


Inevitability, of a Sort

by EtLaBete



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Tony Stark, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Canon Divergence - Guardians of the Galaxy (2014), Canon Divergence - Iron Man 3, Canon Divergence - Thor: The Dark World, Cliffhangers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fix-It of Sorts, Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, Loki (Marvel) Feels, Loki (Marvel)-centric, M/M, Multiverse, Multiverse Tagging Problems, POV Loki (Marvel), Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Slow Burn, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 52,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26882431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtLaBete/pseuds/EtLaBete
Summary: With the Tesseract in hand, Loki is given a choice: he can flee to the ends of the universe and hope to outrun the reckonings of his failures, or he can help protect the one man who will keep his timeline from suffering the devastating fate of the Mad Titan.He chooses the latter, but how could anyone, even a god, be prepared for just how difficult it is to protect Tony Stark?
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark
Comments: 187
Kudos: 772





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zombieporno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombieporno/gifts), [atinydino](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atinydino/gifts).



> It's been quite a while since I've written any Frostiron, but I recently rewatched the MCU films, and this started to claw at my brain until I finally had to put it to paper for my own sanity. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Also for the sanity of zombieporno and atinydino, who have listened to me rant about it for weeks and also helped me with some plotting!

They stand around him, the self-proclaimed Avengers, while he lounges amidst the shattered floor. His head is pounding, and he can feel the bruises blossoming like blood on cloth along his flanks, but he smirks up at them anyway. Thor looks at him disapprovingly and his frown tilts even more downwards when Loki finally deigns to speak.

“If it’s all the same, I’ll have that drink now.”

No one looks amused by his joke. No one except the flippant Man of Iron, whose glare falters for a moment and is replaced by an arched brow and a slight quirk of the lips. 

_I will kill him first_ , the god of mischief thinks, and he holds the man’s gaze until he is peeled from the floor. They do not bother to restrain him, not yet, and Loki knows this is not because they underestimate him, but because they know that even weak, their pitiful metals could not hold him. Instead, Thor wraps his hand tightly around Loki’s elbow, his grip punishing, as they travel to whatever dark corner of Midgard they believe can contain a god. 

***

He sits in a glass cage similar to the cage on the hellicarrier that he had tricked Thor into no more than two days before, but this time, no one comes to speak with him, nor is he offered a drink. He thinks he would be annoyed, if he had the energy to do more than sprawl against the glass as his magic slowly healed his wounds. With the link to the Other shattered by the green beast’s beating, his mind is both more clear and more cloudy than it has been in a very long time. 

He wonders how angry the void servant of the Great Titan is in light of Loki’s failure. The god had watched, while cradled by crushed marble and concrete, the Man of Iron intercept a weapon and fly it into the wormhole. The idiot mortal had barely made it back through the opening before it closed, but Loki had seen the explosion light up the darkened shadows of the void just before all the Chitauri collapsed like unmanned puppets. Alone and smeared across the flooring, Loki had laughed and laughed and laughed, his chest heaving with effort and the pain it sent coursing through his body. 

It could not have gone more wrongly or more perfectly. 

Now Loki waits. He is sure he will be returned to Asgard, and the thought of facing Odin armors him in an anger that he reserves only for his false father. Odin, who will take no responsibility for the feral creature Loki has morphed into. Odin, who will no doubt execute him though he holds no true love for the mortal realm of Midgard, not like Thor. Or even worse, he will throw Loki into the dungeons and allow him to slowly decay there. 

Loki is pulled from his thoughts by footsteps. Thor approaches the cage, and Loki stiffens when he sees what is in his hand.

“You will wear this,” The Thunderer says in an equally disappointed and guilty tone that only Thor can manage with such spectacular skill. “We cannot have you pulling your tricks upon our return home.”

“You will muzzle me as you would a rabid dog?” Loki sneers, fingernails digging into the glass floor until the point of pain. 

“You have done this to yourself, brother.” 

“ _I am not your brother_.” 

“So you say,” Thor replies, his tone softening, “but I do not agree, no matter what you have done.” 

“You are the true orchestrator of this,” Loki repeats, and then spits, “ _brother_.”

A muscle in Thor’s cheek jumps, which Loki relishes, but the Thunderer does not reply. He merely raises the hand grasping Mjolnir, and the door to the cage slides open. He tosses the muzzle, which lands with a surprisingly hefty thud inches from Loki’s feet. The Hammer sparks warningly, bolts of electricity crawling across its surface like so many snakes, and Thor stares at him in that infuriatingly determined, patient way that makes Loki want to pluck his eyeballs out of his head like kumquats. 

“Please put it on, Loki. I would have no tricks from you,” Thor says after a few moments of Loki’s inactivity. He looks tired now, the brave mantel falling away. 

Loki would perhaps feel sorry for him if he had any pity left to give. 

He stands, climbing to his feet slowly as his wounds scream their displeasure, and he watches Thor stiffen, as if preparing for an attack. Loki grins, wide and feral, before he puts the muzzle on, happy to see Thor wince as the latches click into place loudly. Loki does not fight when Thor finally approaches with shackles that are snapped over Loki’s wrists, a heavy chain hanging between them. He knows he will not be able to escape from SHIELD headquarters — he is too weak after the battle, disoriented after the Other’s link was torn from his mind, and incapacitated by the Asgardian metal which rejects his magic. He only hopes he will have a chance to slip through the cracks of Asgard and back into the darkened corners of the realms before anyone is the wiser. Before he must face Odin’s hypocritical wrath and the dulcet, yet saddened eyes of Frigga. 

They weave through hallways and ascend up elevators. No one speaks to them, but the eyes of the men and women they pass follow Loki, and he wishes he could offer them a grin to get their blood pumping with fear. Instead, he can only maintain eye contact, which he does until they shrink back. 

Their merry group is joined by several more SHIELD agents and Tony Stark, the Man of Iron, who winks at Loki but says nothing, though he very obviously notices when Loki’s attention is instead brought to the device in his chest. Stark just grins, a flash of white teeth and utter surety, and the urge to defenestrate the arrogant mortal flares up in Loki once again. Loki it not sure what he would love more: to reach into the man’s chest and shatter his precious, mysterious beacon, or to rip it from his chest and figure out how it counteracted the power of the scepter. 

And then he would toss Stark from a great height without his metal suit to save him, of course. 

They finally make their way into the open, and Loki must squint against the light. He knows not where they go, but there are many people about, and more glances are tossed his way. As they walk down the corridor, Loki hears Stark groan under his breath. Thor steps forward immediately, ever the overprotective oaf, leaving Loki at the center of the agents who accompany them. Hey immediately tighten ranks. 

“May I ask you where you’re going?” a weather-torn, mortal man with hair the color and texture of straw asks as he stops in front of Thor and Stark.

“Lunch and then to Asgard,” Thor says, and oh, by the Nines, how Loki hates when the stupid oaf attempts nonchalance, as it always since painfully insincere. “I’m sorry, you are?” 

Stark answers for the man, and there’s a certain venom there despite his tone remaining cordial enough. “Alexander Pierce.” 

Thor’s eyes narrow, though he maintains a loose stance. “Well, Loki will be answering to Odin—”

“Oh, no, he’s going to be answering to us,” the man called Pierce interjects, barely glancing at Loki, “and Odin can have what’s left. I’m going to need that case. That’s been SHIELD property for over 70 years.”

Before either Thor or Stark can answer, another man, equally appalling, steps forward and demands, “Hand over the case, Stark.”

A little grapple begins for the case, as if they were all children. They talk over each other, though Stark continues to dance words around them, presenting jargon Loki assumes is meant to stifle their claim to the Tessaract. It becomes heated, and Loki is ready to burn up what strength he can muster to rip the muzzle from his face when a guttural groan comes from Stark’s mouth, and he collapses at the same time the case hits the floor. 

Everyone crowds around him, including Thor, the SHIELD agents, and the men who, moments earlier, were close to threatening bodily harm. Loki just stares, unable to do more than blink at the utter ridiculousness of the situation. 

“We need a medic!” 

Loki stiffens. He knows that voice, and its owner, who provided Loki ample time to memorize the specifics of it by prattling away before he was tossed out a window, just happens to be convulsing on the floor no more than two meters away from him. He turns to look over his shoulder, and he sees a man. His face is mostly covered by a tactical uniform, but Loki recognizes that perfectly manicured facial hair and those dark eyes. 

It cannot be. 

The case suddenly moves, and along side it, Loki sees a small — a small man? He jerks his head to the left to follow the case’s movements, as no one else is — they’re too busy paying mind to the first Stark, who still gasps on the floor— and watches as the second Stark scoops up the case by the handle and begins to walk off like there’s not a care in the world he should have. 

In his present situation, Loki can only be impressed by the cunning of whatever spectacularly choreographed magic or heist has just been pulled under all of their noses. 

Except he hears the sound of the green beast over the rest of the chatter, and he grins beneath the muzzle even though it pulls painfully at his skin as the second Stark reaches a door just as the Hulk punches it off of its hinges. It hits the black-clad Stark, who flies backwards in a similar fashion of weightlessness that the Chitauri expressed when the bomb exploded inside the wormhole and dashed his chances of Midgard domination to pieces. 

The case hits the floor. It opens. The Tessaract, beautifully blue and glowing softly, skids into the toe of Loki’s boot.

Not even Heimdall, with all his sight, or Frigga, who wove and read the threads of fate, could have predicted such a perfect moment as the moment that Loki bent over, grasped the Tesseract in his shackled hands, and disappeared. 

***

The god could go anywhere. With the Tesseract in hand, no place in the Nine Realms was too far a reach, and he would need to lay low, both from Thor’s determination, Odin’s hypocritical sense of justice, and the Other’s wrath. He considers Nilfheim, where the cold mists and darkened corners could easily hide him, or perhaps even Alfheim, where the lush forests provide dense cover and make his seidr thrum to unheard beats. 

But he knows he will go to neither place, not yet.

Once his magic has regenerated, Loki waits, and when the moment is right, he pulls shadow around himself and teleports to the top of Stark Tower. Wind gushes in around the tarps that cover the empty window frames, making them flap violently. Little more than clean up has been done thus far, so while shattered glass and pieces of rubble have been swept away, the signs of Loki’s failed attempt are still visible, both here and throughout the city. 

Loki merely surveys the room with distaste and waits. He can be patient, after all, when it benefits him. He knows Stark will be here, and soon. He has tracked the mortal’s movements, and most evenings find Anthony Stark standing at the top of this godforsaken tower, gripping a glass of the same alcohol he’d offered Loki days earlier without a care for his mortality. The man stares out at the city and does naught else, a familiar, anxious gleam in his eye that Loki knows all too well, but he refuses to put himself in league with this infuriatingly smug man. 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do this.”

Loki turns at the sudden voice, unfamiliar and grave. A tall man stands behind him, his hair and beard perfectly manicured. He wears a blue tunic and a dark red cloak that has a magical shimmer about it, but most interesting is the aged pendant around his neck in the shape of an eye. A power leaks from inside it that Loki has only ever felt matched by the scepter and the Tesseract. 

_Interesting._

“And who might you be?” Loki asks, cocking his head to the side. 

“Who I am is not important,” the man replies. “But I cannot let you kill Stark.” 

A snarl of a smile unfurls on Loki’s face. “You think you can stop me?” 

The man blinks, facial expression unchanged. “Yes.”

Before Loki can hurl magic at him, before he even has a moment to draw his seidr into his hands, the floor beneath him sparks and he falls into darkness. Moments later, he lands someplace else—on an armchair in a room that smells of old books and even older power, to be exact — and finds himself sitting across from the man with the red cloak, who is situated like he’s been there ages, patiently waiting for Loki to just drop in. Loki grips the arms of the chair and feels his magic rippling beneath the surface.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the man says calmly. “I can’t kill you, but I can make your life a living Hell if need be.”

“Of course you cannot kill me,” Loki spits, his ire rising, “for I am a god.”

The man pins him with an exasperated stare, and Loki is loathe to realize it is the same look he has given Thor for centuries. “Oh, I didn’t mean I couldn’t kill you in the literal sense. I just mean that being dead does not help me at all because I literally need you alive. I can’t _afford_ to kill you is probably the better verbiage.”

Loki narrows his eyes. He doesn’t like where this is going, and he does not like this Midgardian. “And, pray tell, why is that?”

When the man doesn’t answer, Loki considers just using the Tesseract to transport himself to a realm far from here. The man is powerful, however, and Loki would rather not present him with the Tesseract on a pedestal. He knows, though he would never admit it aloud, that there is a significant chance that he would be unable to win against this man, and he is so very tired of losing in the god forsaken realm. 

“I am Dr. Stephen Strange,” the man finally says, “and I am burdened with glorious purpose.” 

All of his self-preservation melts away in an instant. Standing suddenly, magic flares around Loki, licking upwards like green wildfire. He is tired of this man and his insolence, and he will risk death if it means tearing the patronizing expression from his face. “You dare mock me?” he seethes. 

“You do realize he will find you?” Strange states, ignoring Loki’s outburst. “Thanos will come, and no matter where the Tesseract takes you, somehow, someway, he will find you anywhere in space or time. Whether it is to retrieve it, or punish you for your failures and your disobedience—and you are a disobedient asshole, if I may say so. But he will find you, and he will kill you.”

Loki feels cold in a way he has not felt since that faithful day when the Casket of Ancient Winters caused his pale Aesir skin to darken to a deep Jotun blue. The magic around him fades as quickly as it sparked, and he stares down at the man, his heart suddenly and rapidly thumping in his chest. 

“How do you know all of this?” he whispers. He has not uttered the Titan’s name to anyone, will not even say it aloud himself. 

Strange taps the pendant around his neck. “Glorious purpose, remember? I know you are a skilled sorcerer and can sense its power, just as I can feel the Tesseract’s presence despite the very practical pocket universe or whatever you have it stashed in.” Strange smiles for the first time, obviously enjoying Loki’s stunned silence. “I am here to protect this universe at all costs, as well as the multiverses connected to it, and Thanos is a very real, very significant threat to all of that. Very specific things need to happen in order for him to fail, and it is my job to make sure that he does.” 

Loki narrows his eyes and studies the man’s face for a few moments as he places the pieces together. “This is why you stopped me from killing Stark.”

Strange nods. “And I will continue to do so. He is instrumental in the Titan’s defeat. We literally cannot win this without him.”

“You ask me to believe that a mortal man who flies around in a metal suit is the the death of Thanos.” Loki can’t help himself. He throws his head back and laughs, and he continues to laugh until tears prick the corners of his eyes. He has to force himself to stop, because he thinks he could laugh and laugh and laugh for millennia and not feel enough levity with how this all is playing out. He wipes the tears away, his breath huffing out between chuckles. “You kid.”

Strange is not amused. In fact, he looks even more exasperated. “I do not. I have sifted through millions of timelines to find one where he fails, and it only happens if Anthony Stark is alive. It only happens if all of the Avengers are alive, for that matter. They must be kept safe.”

“This includes me?” Loki asks curiously. “I must remain alive, as well?”

Dr. Strange may be many things, but Loki is the God of Lies. He can hear it in the silence that settles over the room, see it the moment of hesitation. The flicker in the man’s eyes gives him the truth, and he does not wait for Strange to deny it or offer placations, as he no doubt would be want to do if it meant halting Loki’s plans. The god slowly sinks back into the chair, smiling even though nothing about any of this drums up any humor for him. “I am not instrumental, then.”

“There are a minuscule number of timelines where you die and Thanos is still defeated,” Strange admits, “but there are more timelines where he is defeated when you still live, and in some of those, the loss of life is insignificant in the grand scheme of things. I would prefer to increase our chances of success as much as possible, which means I want you alive.”

“Then what is it you need from me, Dr. Stephen Strange?” Loki asks, his voice low. “You would not tell me all of this if you only needed me to not kill Stark.”

“I need two things from you, Loki Odinson. First, you must keep the Tesseract out of his hands. Do you know what it is?” 

“It is a key of sorts. It opens doorways that do not otherwise exist throughout the Nine Realms.” 

Strange sighs, and Loki knows two things in that singular, exasperated moment: that the man will tell him literally everything, and that Loki will still be in possession of the Tesseract when he departs.

“It isn’t just a key. It is so much more than that, which is why The Mad Titan cannot have it.”

Loki arches a brow. “And what, pray tell, is it, exactly?” 

“It doesn’t just open doorways,” Strange says. “It can transport you anywhere you wish to go within this universe and sometimes, within others.”

A thrill jolts through Loki, but he does not allow it to show, just stares expectantly at him, raising his brows.

“As I mentioned, the universe we live in does not exist singularly in a vacuum. Every time some super-powered being affects specific pre-set conditions in a universe, a new universe, which now exists in a multiverse, curves onto a new path, almost like a fork in the road, and another timeline starts from there. Some of them are very closely interconnected, but not so much so that boundaries of one timeline and another can easily be crossed. Which is where the Tesseract comes in to play. It can transport you to wherever you wish to go in this universe, but it can also transport you to the same time in a closely related timeline.” 

Loki lounges back in the chair and crosses his arms. He doesn’t speak, and Strange allows him a moment to ruminate on the information, which is both fascinating and not at all surprising. He is well aware of the strings of fate—Frigga could not create them, not like the Norns, but she could read them and follow their eventualities. She always kept their paths close to her chest, though, even with the Allfather, and Loki wonders if this is why, because the possibilities are endless if what Strange says is true. 

“That isn’t all, though,” Strange begins again. “The Tesseract is not a singular item. In what it can do, yes, but not in its power capacity. There are others like it, such as the scepter you were sent to Earth with and the Eye of Agomoto.” He gestures at his pendant. “The Tesseract, like the Eye and the scepter, is at its core an Infinity Stone housed in a specific container that protects its wielder from its immeasurable power and also focuses the energy it contains. There were six created at the beginning of the universe. When they are combined…” Strange grimaces. “Well, they can rip apart reality, all realities, in devastating ways you cannot even imagine. They are all-powerful.” 

“And this is what The Titan wishes,” Loki finishes, and he sounds numb, even to himself. 

“Yes.”

“You said millions,” he continues. “Millions of timelines.”

“Yes. More than millions.”

“And in how many of them does the Titan fall?” 

Strange does not answer.

“Ah,” Loki murmurs and runs a hand through his hair. “So the odds are grave indeed.”

Strange offers a self-deprecating smirk. “Do you think, as a protector of Earth, I would do anything but transport you realms away if it wasn’t?”

“Quite true. I have made quite a mess of this meager realm, haven’t I?” Before Strange can retort, Loki asks, “And what of the second thing you ask of me?” 

“Keep Tony Stark alive.” 

Loki cocks his head to the side, his interest piqued. “And why have you chosen me for this?”

Strange leans forward, hands clasped between his knees. There’s a sharpness to the look he pins Loki with, a dangerous determination that the god is all too familiar with. “Because you have the most to lose, and the most to gain.”

Loki huffs a laugh. “And why is that?”

“Because even though you’re a selfish piece of work, you’re a survivor. You don’t want to die, and knowing it’s more likely that you, that the universe doesn’t need you, bothers you. There is a part of you that longs for something more. Don’t think I haven’t skimmed the timeline to get a sense of where your loyalties lie before this meeting occurred. It was not happenstance, that I found you.”

Oh, this man knows how to play dirty. Loki clenches his teeth, emotion welling up in him. “What could you know about my loyalties,” he snaps. 

If Strange senses it, he ignores it. “I understand you were screwed over—it happens to the best of us— but I also know that you hold some of the people in your past more dear than you’d like to admit, even to yourself. And if they die, and many of them do, in various battles that all lead in some way or another to Thanos’ end goal of mass destruction, it’s important to remember this universe that we strive to protect includes all the realms. Earth, Asgard, Valhalla, Helheim… the living and the dead all suffer if Thanos succeeds.”

Loki leans forward now, gripping the arms of the chair so tightly his fingers puncture the fabric. “Are you telling me those who may be dear to me, those few who may exist, die?”

“I can’t confirm or deny that.” 

Which confirms it, Loki thinks, and even though he does not wish to think of her, Frigga’s face flashes in his mind. Loki grinds his teeth. “You ask too much of me.”

“Do I?” Strange demands. “You have craved glorious purpose, and I am giving it to you on a silver platter, Loki of Asgard. Help me. I trust your rage, and more importantly, _I need it_.”

Loki jerks back like he’s been slapped. Something about the phrase ignites a tightness in his chest until it is hard to breathe, but he doesn’t know why, and that instills him with more of a sense of fear than any of the information the Doctor has thrown at him since he was transported here. 

“Tell me,” he murmurs softly. “Is this the main timeline, or is it a deviation?”

Strange smirks, as if he wasn’t sure that Loki had quite caught on. “It is a deviation. A very close one.” 

Loki swallows the lump in his throat. “When I was being lead out of the compound, I escaped because of a strange series of events.”

Strange nods. “You did.”

“That was not supposed to happen. Not originally.”

Strange smiles now, wide and pleased. “Nice catch. No, it wasn’t. It was a result of the Avengers making an attempt to fix very grave mistakes that were made.”

“So then by taking the Tesseract at that moment, I have possibly doomed this timeline, which is now, for all intents and purposes, my main timeline.” 

“Yes. Unless you help me stop Thanos in this universe and limit the chance that any further timelines are created.” 

“By keeping Tony Stark alive.” Loki shakes his head in disbelief. “How can that infuriating mortal be the key to all of this?”

“Oh, he is absolutely infuriating,” Strange grumbles, “but he has what it takes to make certain calls that are required for our success, and he has the technology to compensate for most mistakes.”

“There is no other way?” 

“If there was, I would not be here with you now.”

They sit in silence, and at some point, Strange waves his hand and a tea set appears on the small table between them. He reaches forward to pour himself a cup and gestures to Loki, who shrugs. Suddenly, a steaming cup of a bitter smelling, dark tea appears in his hand, his fingers looped through the handle. The warm radiating off of the ceramic is grounding. Loki wraps both hands around it and allows the heat to soak into his palms, deep enough that it just reaches past Odin’s Aesir glamor and makes his Jotun skin hiss. 

“You are obviously very powerful. Why can’t you keep Stark alive?” 

Strange stares down at his cup, a frown tilting his thin lips. “I don’t exist in this timeline, not like you do, not yet, and as I mentioned, I don’t just watch over the Earth, though my concern for it is heavily weighted. There are other small pieces to this massive puzzle that must be orchestrated, and I can’t do all of it. I need trained sorcerers who I can trust to run interference, and we are spread thin.” He looks up at Loki. “And this is Stark we’re talking about. I need someone cunning— more cunning than he is. More cunning than most of my sorcerers are.”

More cunning than Stark. Loki takes it as a compliment, especially as this man obviously, and very begrudgingly, thinks highly of the Man of Iron. Loki takes a sip of the tea and cannot help it when he smiles. It is a blend of leaves native to Asgard. This man is absolutely placating him. “Is this a job offer, Dr. Strange?”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“You must be truly desperate to come to me for help. And I am to keep the Tesseract?”

“For now.” 

Loki grins. “I accept your offer.” 

***

Later, he finds Stark where he expects him to be, standing near unbroken glass with the plastic tarp flapping noisily in the wind. He holds a clear glass, filled with a small amount of amber liquid, and he stares out into the night, his eyes trained upwards at the stars. Loki remembers how disconcerting the void was when he first fell, how it felt endless and all-consuming and he had been unsure if he could ever untangle himself from it. Unlike Stark, he had been burning with an anger which matched the all-consuming void like an old friend, but he can see that Tony Stark is not in the same place. There is something dark about him, yes, but it is not the same, and that makes all the difference.

By the Nines, he hopes that Strange is correct. That this man, who seems so tired and battered standing alone in the dim light, is able to save them.


	2. Two

The glorious purpose Loki was to be burdened with is much more dull than Stephen Strange made it seem to be.

The Avengers scatter, and Midgard is quiet once again. No new villains grace the skies and the damage done to New York during Loki’s failed invasion is mended. The mortals do not forget, but they do move on. Daily life seems to return to its monotonous sense of normalcy, which is painfully boring for a being of Loki’s caliber. So, with his magic back in full force, the god distorts his facial features enough to avert detection, and then he conjures Midgardian money so that he can exist with some semblance of the limited luxury and excitement Midgard has to offer. He rents a condo near Stark Tower and furnishes it with plush sofas and chairs. He samples coffee and finds that he likes it more than tea. He visits museums— art, history, science, animal— and reads all manners of books. He walks the city at daybreak, and he finds he quite enjoys the color the sky turns due to the horrendous amount of pollution Midgardian technology pumps into the air. 

And then there is Stark. Stark, who just as Loki gets settled into New York life, uproots himself for another, even more gaudy home on the other side of the country. 

If Loki wasn’t so fond of the sun-soaked beaches, he would be furious. 

Tony Stark is… interesting. He is a deft with his hands, quick with his wit, and quite intelligent by Midgardian standards. While Loki still contends with the urge to toss him out a window occasionally, he finds he enjoys watching the man work, especially as he gains more of an understanding of science. It is similar to magic, in the sense that energy drawn from elsewhere produces results, and Loki wishes he could ask questions. But there his no reason to out himself to Stark, and Strange had recommended keeping distance to maintain the timeline’s integrity as much as possible. Not that Loki needs an excuse to avoid confrontation. He is sure it would go poorly, especially as the days slide into weeks and Loki comes to realize that Tony Stark seems to constantly be on one path or another towards self destruction.

Most evenings, the mortal crafts tirelessly. When the woman known as Pepper Potts, who has moved cross country with him, retires for the night, Stark descends into his workshop. He creates and hammers and tinkers, making dozens of suits and pieces of metal that he injects beneath his skin so that he may call the suits to him. At first, it seems unproblematic, though Loki knows mortals need much more sleep and much more nourishment than this man allows himself. Plus, he is fascinated with the mechanics, and one would expect the Man of Iron to build more suits. Loki does not fault him for wanting to make them better, either, considering the throng of horror the god brought through a wormhole in the sky. 

However, as time goes on, Loki sees that the productivity is merely a mask for something darker. Something that Loki knows all too well. He watches Stark descend into it in the night, when he dozes off in his workshop and then shoots awake, eyes wide and pupils dilated, skin pale and clammy. 

Oh yes, Loki knows this well. 

“I’m a piping hot mess,” Stark finally blurts out to Pepper Potts one evening, when she is frustrated by Stark’s erratic behavior. “It’s been going on for a while now. I haven’t said anything.” 

She turns back towards him, and Loki leans against the wall, cloaked in shadow and entirely too interested in how this will play out. 

Stark swallows anxiously. “Nothing’s been the same since New York.” 

“Oh, really? I didn’t notice that at all,” Pepper replies, her tone level and unmoved. 

_She is a force to be reckoned with_ , Loki thinks with a snort. 

“You experience things and then they’re over and you still can’t explain explain them. Gods, aliens, other dimensions. I…” He shakes his head and laughs awkwardly. “I’m just a man in a can. The only reason I haven’t cracked up is probably because you moved in. Which is great. I love you. I’m lucky. But, honey, I can’t sleep. You go to bed, I come down here. I do what I know. I tinker.”

He sits down and sighs, glancing around at the suits that line the walls. Loki watches his face, the utter helplessness that seems to be warring with his need to be in control, and he nearly leaves because this is too close. It’s too much. 

“But the threat is imminent, and I have to protect the one thing that I can’t live without. That’s you. My suits, they’re, uh…”

“Machines,” Pepper supplies, seemingly unaffected by his declaration of devotion. It makes Loki curl his upper lip. 

Stark winces. “They’re a part of me,” he corrects, and there’s a deep-seated need in those words. A deep-seated need strikingly similar to the one that caused Loki to uncurl his fingers from the edge of the Bifrost and fall into the darkness. He has watched the Man of Iron for months now without any form of sentiment cracking the surface of his task, but now, that surface cracks ever so slightly. Loki wants to grab onto and not let go of the words pouring out of Stark’s mouth, to give them purchase. They deserve purchase. 

Pepper Potts does not feel such a desire. 

“A distraction.”

Stark looks crestfallen, for just a moment, but he quickly nods, his movements jerky. “Maybe.”

Loki fumes silently, his magic prickling, and suddenly Stark turns around, his eyes settling on the corner of the room where Loki hides from his sight. Loki quirks his head. So the mortal could feel that charge in the air. Interesting. 

“I’m going to shower.”

Pepper ascends the stairs and Stark turns back to watch her go. She does not hesitate in the hopes that he will stop her, and Stark does not try to stop her. 

“Damnit,” he hisses, then takes the crown of metal encircling his temples, the same that controls his suits, and throws it across the room. It shatters into several pieces, which scatter across the floor. 

Normally, after Stark has retired or worn himself out to the point of drinking silently alone, Loki likes to go walk about the beach. Because it is dark, there is no one else there, so he can remove his glamour and enjoy the ambiance. He loves the smell and sound of the ocean, as well as the cool breeze that wafts in from the water and the way the sand feels beneath his bare feet. The stars aren’t very visible here, either, but it’s better than New York, so he charts them and wonders where he will be able to go when the business with Thanos is done. The Tesseract opens up so many possibilities, and for the first time in a long while, Loki is excited to live. 

But tonight, he does not go to the beach. Tonight, he lingers after Stark crawls into bed next to Pepper. He walks about the workshop and glides his fingertips across the cool metal of the suits.

Until he hears screaming, at which point he teleports himself to their bedroom, cloaking himself.

Stark thrashes on the bed, forehead glistening with sweat. He gasps and flinches even as Pepper sits up and tries to wake him, but before she can, one of Stark’s suits, the one that has been wandering the home like a sentient guard, grabs her by the wrist and slams her back into the pillows. Stark shoots up and acts immediately, holding his heads out and demanding, “Power down!”

The suit does as it is told, and then Stark punches it, causing it to break down into dozens of pieces. He pants, staring at the mess of metal parts scattered at his feet.

“I must have called it in my sleep.” He can’t stop staring down. “That's not supposed to happen. I'll recalibrate the sensors. Can we just... just let me... just let me catch my breath, okay?”

Pepper looks at him with an expression that makes even Loki wince. “I’m going to sleep downstairs. Tinker with that.”

She leaves, and Stark sinks down onto the edge of the bed. His eyes glimmer in the strange light cast by the metal contraption in his chest and he looks _so very lost_ that Loki steps forward, ready to make himself visible.

He knows he should not. He is not necessarily afraid to make impromptu decisions, but this one is being fueled by a sentimentality that Loki is not comfortable with nor prepared for, and that presents itself as too much of a wildcard. He also knows that Stark is near his capacity, that he may look upon Loki and absolutely crumble to pieces or arm himself to the teeth. 

Loki does it anyway. 

Stark looks up, and his eyes widen. He says nothing, just stares, the muscles in his jaw jumping.

“Hello, Man of Iron,” Loki murmurs, but does not move forward. He knows this is a pivotal moment, and he is not so far gone in this stupid sentiment that he would risk coming on even more strongly so soon. “You do not need to call for your ghost. I can assure you, I will cause you no harm.”

 _My ghost?_ Stark mouths, his expression momentarily amused, but it dissipates quickly and then he says,“Loki,” as he licks his lips, all the color drained from his face. 

“Sir?” the ceiling questions. 

Stark takes a deep breath. “You’re saying you’re not here to kill me?”

“I am not here to kill you, no.” 

He doesn’t look convinced. “Stand down for now, JARVIS. Gotta say, Rock of Ages, pretty terrible time to show up. Anytime would be a pretty terrible time for you to waltz in, but this takes the cake.” 

Loki smirks. “You seemed in need of aid. Or perhaps a drink. I have come to learn that is a normal thing to offer during a strenuous time such as this.” 

“You’re here to offer me a drink?” Stark laughs, and it sounds somewhat delirious. “What the ever loving fuck.”

“There is much to explain, Stark. Do you wish to hear it?” 

The mortal lets out a shaky breath. “Do I have a choice?”

Loki shrugs. “A question for the ages. The answer is yes, but we both know you are too curious an animal to say no.” 

“Your eyes.”

Loki stiffens. Ah, so he did notice. Loki had wondered if anyone had. Of course they were all too busy playing the hero to consider there may have been other cards in play. But not Stark. Loki is beginning to realize why he is needed alive for the Titan to fail. 

Stark is babbling, now. “I thought it was the concussion I had after falling through a wormhole messing with my memory— the wormhole you created, by the way, the one with the flying fucking whale monsters—but they are a different color, aren’t they? They were baby blues in the jet and at the tower. They’re green now.” He takes a breath. “They’re definitely green now.”

“That is very observant of you,” Loki murmurs.

Stark is looking at him strangely, and Loki cannot place the expression. “So, the Glowstick of Destiny had you in a bit of a pickle, too? Is that it?” 

“In a manner of speaking.” 

Tony narrows his eyes. “In a manner of speaking?” 

Loki weighs whether he wishes to expose himself so early, but at this point, the damage has been done, and for once, he is tired of playing games. “I gave myself to its control willingly, at the time. One can fight it, though fighting is futile, in the end. I did not fight it.”

“So you wanted to destroy Earth.”

“I wanted to rule it,” Loki corrects, one eyebrow arching. “Thor is so very fond of the Midgardians, and I was not very fond of Thor. It seemed the only right way to get vengeance. I did not realize the cost, however.”

Stark snorts. “Bullshit.”

The god grins, unable to hold it back. He is delighted when Stark doesn’t flinch. “Perhaps. My inclinations were much different when I fell into the void. I wanted to burn it all down to the ground. It seemed the only way to assuage my grief. He was right, however.”

“The void,” Stark says, and Loki knows he must have question, because no one glimpses the void and is able to look away, but he quickly follows up with the more important question: “Who was right?”

Loki’s grin fades and takes a few steps back to lean against the wall. “The man you called Phil. He told me, before I killed him, that I lacked conviction.” 

“Don’t say his name,” Stark says lowly. “Don’t.” 

Loki bows his head in understanding. “As you wish. Then let us stop with pleasantries, as it were, as my question remains, Tony Stark.”

“Story time, huh?” Stark runs a hand through his hair, then over his face. He looks so very tired that Loki does not think he would be able to say no if he tried. 

Loki is right. 

“Yeah, sure,” Stark finally says with a wave of his hand. “Why the hell not.” A pause. “A drink, though. I would like one. You offered, remember? I think I’m gonna need one, to deal with this. With you. With all of it. But maybe I’ll just pour my own. I don’t trust you not to drug me or kill me with poison or something.”

“I can guarantee you, Stark, that if I wished to kill you, I would not poison you. I am coy, but given our history, coyness would be unnecessary. I would instead toss you out the window and onto those beautiful rocks below.” Loki smiles. “But please, drink your own spirits. I will take no offense.”

Stark gives him a pinched look. “How poetic. You sure know how to sweet talk ‘em, huh?”

“They do call me Silvertongue,” Loki says thoughtfully.

The man laughs and then clamps his lips shut, like he’s not supposed to laugh at the jokes of homicidal gods, before standing up and walking to the opposite corner of the room. He pours himself a glass, then immediately down it in one gulp, hisses through his teeth, and pours himself another glass. 

“On second thought,” Stark suddenly says, “can we go somewhere else? To talk? No offense, but it creeps me out a bit, having you in my bedroom, especially with Pepper downstairs.” 

Loki tilts his head to the side and offers a placating smile. “Where do you wish to go?” 

“Your place?” 

Loki knows it’s a joke by the way Stark angles his head and purses his lips, but he can’t help himself. He magics the Tesseract into his hand and takes four long strides until he’s standing next to the mortal. Stark’s mouth falls open as he spots the cube, but then his expression goes slack, and he says, warningly, “JARVIS—”

But then Loki grabs his arm, and they’re enveloped in the magic of the Tesseract. 

***

Loki’s condo is modesty furnished. The furniture, rugs, and curtains follow a color scheme of warm greys and a shade of burnt orange that he is particularly fond of. He has a television and a record player; bookshelves filled with his favorite reads; a fully stocked kitchen, as he’s recently taken up learning to cook, which no prince would have ever learned on Asgard; and some scented candles, which smell so much better than the incense Frigga was fond of. 

Most importantly, it is _his_. It is a home of sorts, and Loki had not felt at home anywhere in a long time. Sure, he acquired all of it via nefarious actions— he found out while watching a very spirited television show about detectives solving crimes that forging Midgardian money is quite illegal— but what else was he to do? Strange hadn’t been any help, and old habits die hard.

Stark does not seem to care about Loki’s lodgings. 

“What the hell,” he gasps, falling to his knees with his fingers splayed over the blue glow emanating from beneath his dark shirt. His chest heaves and his pupils are blown wide. 

With the Tesseract returned to its hiding place, Loki kneels in front of him and places a hand on his shoulder, and he is surprised when Stark does not flinch. “You will settle momentarily. Breathe, Stark. It will pass.”

Stark stares into his eyes, heaving in breath after breath until his breathing slows to a more normal rhythm. His hands eventually fall to his sides and he looks away, his cheek pinkening slightly as he looks around. Loki removes his hand from Stark’s shoulder, but does not stand. 

Stark blinks a few times. “Did you hire a decorator?” 

“I did not.”

“This is a lot less gaudy than I would have thought you’d choose. I expected more gold and guild. Maybe some chandeliers.” 

Loki scoffs. “I am sorry to disappoint.”

Stark looks back at him. His eyes widen. “You’re living in Malibu.”

Loki nods. “I am, and before that, I was in New York.”

“Following me.” 

“In a manner of speaking.” Loki stands and holds out a hand. Stark only hesitates momentarily before he takes it and allows the god to pull him to his feet. He stumbles a little, so Loki gently pushes his shoulder so that he does so backwards and right down onto the cushion of the sofa. 

“I thought you said you weren’t going to kill me.”

“I did consider doing so before disappearing to worlds unknown, but I was approached with an offer I could not refuse.”

Stark laughs, and when Loki glances at him, he sees genuine humor in the man’s face. “Did you just quote The Godfather?”

“I have had ample free time to indoctrinate myself to Midgardian culture. Take heed. I may yet understand your dreadful pop culture references.” Loki sheds his coat, tossing it over the back of an armchair that he then sits in. “I was approached to protect you, Man of Iron.”

Stark looks skeptical, but he’s relaxed. He leans back and rests one bare foot on the opposite knee. “Protect me? You were trying to kill me six months ago.” 

“Things sometimes change rapidly. We are both very aware of this.”

“Protect me. Why?”

“It seems,” Loki says, attempting to curate his words, “that you are an important piece of a puzzle that has yet to come together.”

“That’s some very cryptic bullshit.”

Loki shrugs. “I am forbidden to tell you any details that may affect the outcomes. In fact, a very imprudent Midgardian sorcerer has sworn me to secrecy with the promise of death. All I can say is that a very serious threat looms, and I am to make sure you do not get yourself killed in the meantime.” 

Stark blinks owlishly at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I wish I were.”

“So you’re… my what? My babysitter?”

Loki can’t help it, because the irony is too perfect. He grins. “Your gallant protector.” 

Stark just snorts. “I don’t get a say in this?”

“As I said, there are larger things at work here than you, and even me.” 

Stark sits there silently, his dark brows drawn together and his lips twisted into something akin to a frown. Loki allows him the time process the information. He imagines Stark feels similarly to the way he felt when Strange magicked him to some strange room to place an impossible, ridiculous task in front of him. He realizes he has just done the same to Stark in a way, and a smiles plays on his lips. 

“Listen, I get myself almost killed a lot. So, what do you expect from me?”

He stares at Loki now, his eyes dark and his expression serious. He can tell the mortal doesn’t trust him, and he would be stupid to do so. Stark is many things, but stupid is not one of them. Loki considers how he could have gotten stuck with one of the other Avengers, and he finds this the best possible scenario. 

“Do not tell Thor of my being here,” he replies. “Thor or any of the others. That is all I ask. In return, I will maintain distance unless my presence is needed.”

The words are barely out of Loki’s mouth before Tony leans forward and says, “You could have stayed silent. Invisible. Why did you decide to show yourself? I don’t understand your endgame.”

Loki doesn’t answer immediately because for once, the Silvertongue doesn’t know what to say. He’s not quite sure why he stepped from the shadows, other than he saw something of himself in this crazed mortal inventor. He imagines it would sound like a weak excuse to the man sitting across from him, a lie to hide other cunning ruses. 

“The fact that you’re not answering tells me there’s an actual truth you’re contending with,” Stark says. “Out with it.”

“I know what it is to be lost,” Loki replies simply. 

Something in Stark’s expression breaks. He swallows thickly, his hands clenching into fists in his lap. “That’s a low blow.”

“It is merely the truth, just as you asked.”

“You’re a villain,” Stark grits out, nostrils flaring. “You’re the bad guy. You don’t get to put us in league with one another. We’re not the same.”

Loki shrugs. “Perhaps not, but keep in mind, I was not always the villain, Stark. I do not know what Thor has told you, and frankly, I do not care. I am well aware of what I am, and of what I was, and of what I am to be moving forward.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a smug, self-righteous bastard?”

Loki hums thoughtfully. “Thor’s friends, in fact. Quite often, in the days of our youth.” 

Stark doesn’t take the bait. “You still have the Tesseract.”

“I do.”

“That part of your mission, too?”

Loki grins. “One day, Tony Stark, if I am successful in this ridiculous endeavor, I will tell you how the Tesseract came to be in my possession again. It is quite the tale.”

Stark huffs and leans back into the couch again, his posture relaxing slowly. He watches Loki from beneath heavy-lidded eyes, and Loki doesn’t look away. They stay that way for a while, until Stark breaks the calm with a jaw-shattering yawn. 

“Come,” Loki says with a sigh and stands, motioning for Stark to do the same. “I will return you home.” 

Stark swats his hand away, an action that both surprises and delights Loki, and stands, rolling his shoulders as he does so. “Oh, right, because you can just waltz into my home. You know you’re going to whisk me back and I’m immediately going to find some way to have JARVIS detect your magical bullshit, right? If you’re going to be a stalker, I wanna at least know you’re there so I can wear my sexiest outfit.”

Loki rolls his eyes, wraps his fingers around Stark’s bicep, and holds out his other hand. Stark watches as the Tesseract blooms out of nothingness and falls into the god’s palm. His face is illuminated a beautiful, deep blue as he grins and says, “That is very cool.”

Loki grins, as well, before magic envelopes them and returns them to Stark’s home at the edge of the ocean. 

***

Loki prefers to read, but occasionally he turns on the television and watches a true crime documentary, or listens to a dull man mumble about the weather, or sits glued to the screen as British bakers create spectacular pastries. He does not turn on the television the day after revealing himself to Stark. Instead, he ports to San Diego and visits the Museum of Man for the cannibalism exhibit that will soon be leaving. After he arrives back in Malibu, he gets a bite to eat and sits on the beach to watch the sun set. When he visits Stark briefly that evening, he finds the workshop empty, but the voice in the ceiling says, “Hello, Your Highness. Sir is well.”

Loki laughs—he can’t help himself. “I am gladdened to hear this, and I am not surprised he managed to come up with this so quickly. Until next time, ghost.” And then he leaves. 

Today, he returns to his home and turns on the television while he sips a delightfully flavored coffee after a morning spent perusing a stellar library in Europe. His attention is immediately grabbed by what is plastered across the screen. An ostentatious home, at the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean, is billowing smoke. Just then, something hits it and explodes, causing more of the foundation to crumble and dump large pieces of concrete into the water below. 

Loki feels the ground shake. His mug hits the floor, the ceramic shattering, and he teleports to the house, but it is complete and utter chaos of smoke and fire and falling beams, and Tony Stark is no where to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely comments! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, as well. :)


	3. Three

He should have placed a locator spell on Stark when he had the chance. 

It takes Loki several days to track down the foolish mortal who blatantly and openly challenged a megalomaniac on live television. When Loki first sees the news clips being replayed over and over amidst headlines such as “Stark Presumed Dead,” he very nearly shatters the television, but manages to reign in his anger. Honestly, he shouldn’t be surprised, considering Stark’s performance in the tower amidst the Chitauri attack and his own blatant statement during their recent meeting, but he is still furious, both at himself for being less vigilant than this insufferable man requires, and at Stark for his antics. 

Loki is lucky, however, that Stark causes chaos wherever he goes, because it makes it easier to track him the old fashioned way. By the time he finally finds Stark in Miami, he is ready to rip someone limb from limb, be it Stark or whoever has taken him. 

While the building is well-secured against mortal enemies, it has no defenses against magic, not that any defenses would be able to inhibit the Tesseract. He ports himself inside and cloaks himself, easily maneuvering through the halls and incapacitating anyone he comes across. 

He finds Pepper Potts first, woozy and strapped to a table. He ports into the room just as man in a white coat is about to inject her with a substance that glows a fiery orange, similar to the fires at the center of Nidavellir. Loki grips the man’s head and squeezes, making very poignant eye contact with the redheaded woman as blood splatters across her face from the man’s now-ruptured eyeballs. Loki released him and he collapses in a lifeless heap. 

“What?” Pepper whispers. “Why?”

“I will explain later,” Loki snarls, and with a wave of his hand, the metal bars strapping her to the table creak and twist like snakes, and then snap apart with a loud clang.

Pepper grabs on to the edge of one so she doesn’t fall to the floor, her chest still heaving as she gasps out broken sobs. Shakily, she rips at tape and pulls a needle from her arm, making no attempt to staunch the blood now flowing from her elbow until Loki gives her a look and gestures at it with mild disdain. Pepper slaps her hand over it and stares at him as if she is unsure if she should be more or less afraid of him than she is of whomever is responsible for the rest of the mess she is in.

Loki doesn’t have time for this. “Did he inject any of that into your person?” he demands. 

When she doesn’t reply, he grabs her chin and forces her to look at him. Her entire body stills, aside from the occasional tremors that course through her, but she maintains the eye contact.

“Ms. Potts,” he says evenly, attempting not to frighten her more even though he cannot wipe the scowl from his face, “I understand that you’re having somewhat of a terrible day, but I need to know what I am up against, do you understand me?”

Eyes wide, she nods. 

“That liquid— did he inject you with it?”

She shakes her head in short, jerky movements so that clumps of tangled hair stick to the sides of her tear and blood-stricken face. “No, not yet. That was supposed to be the first injection.”

“Good. That is very good. Do you know what it does?”

“They explode,” she says brokenly, the trembling starting again. “And they can regenerate. Heal. From wounds. Some fire.”

“I see. And Stark? Where is he?”

Her voice breaks. “I don’t know.”

He releases her, and she sinks down to her knees, her face in her hands. 

Loki stares down at her dispassionately and allows her to cry. He remembers her utter disregard for Stark’s admission the other night, but he know that if he does not offer her certain assurances, there is no way he will be able to get the terror in her brain to subside long enough to trust him, if even for a moment. 

“I will find him, Ms. Potts. You have my word,” he says lowly. 

She looks up at him and says nothing, but there’s a you better lingering in that glare. 

_Goo_ d, Loki thinks. He will need her to drum up her ire. 

Loki is about to leave her hidden and continue his search when he hears a click. Turning towards the sound, he sees three small cubes on the table a few feet away from the now shredded metal Pepper had been strapped to a short while ago. The cubes flicker with a blue light for a moment, and then an image stitches itself together before them, similar to those he sees in Stark’s lab. 

Loki notices Stark first, suspended from some pipes like he is about to be flogged. He’s looked better, but he could look much worse. There is also another man, who smiles with an air of poignant self-conceit as he says, “Now this is live,” before he realizes that it is not Pepper, but Loki, on the screen.

“Oh, thank god,” Stark says on the end of an exhale, and he’s smiling broadly even as blood runs down the side of his face. “No pun intended.”

“Who the hell are you?” the other man demands.

Loki turns fully towards the cubes and angles his head downward, grinning. Before the other man can say anything else, Loki grabs the cubes and crushes them in his hand. 

“Hide yourself,” he tells Pepper. “I will come back for you once I’ve located Stark.” 

“Kill him,” she says without preamble, her voice steadier than it’s been. “Aldrich Killian. Kill him.”

Loki flashes a smile at her. “With pleasure.” And then he ports.

It is easy to find Stark when he is so close in physical proximity. The device in his chest emanates a very specific energy signature that Loki can pinpoint, similar to difference types of magics, so he appears in the room where Stark is strung up and a dark-haired woman lay bleeding out on the floor from what appears to be an abdominal wound.

The man from the image moments ago, Aldrich Killian, is now glowing, fiery waves undulating beneath his skin. He turns to Loki and opens his mouth, exhaling a mouthful of flame, which Loki gracefully dodges.

“Are you well, Stark?” he asks as Killian stalks towards him again. Loki holds out a hand, which glows a venomous green, and blasts him with the conjured energy. It hits the man in the chest, and he stumbles backwards and hunches over, but then his body only glows more brightly. 

A beeping sounds suddenly begins chirping merrily. Loki and Stark both glance at the culprit: a pink, child’s watch, which sits atop a shelf. Stark grins and flexes his hands. “I’m about to be a lot better. Hold him off for a minute, will ya?”

“What does it look like I am doing?” Loki snarls as he strides forward towards the man. He holds out his hand when he’s a few meters away and a staff appears, glowing a ghostly green, which he rotates a few times before bringing it down hard.

Heat radiates off of Killian in waves as he catches the edge of Loki’s spear and yanks, pulling the god towards him and swinging them around. Aside from scorching the staff, which is magically protected from elemental magic, but apparently not protected enough against whatever this is, all it accomplishes is allowing Loki to make eye contact with Stark, who watches on with his eyebrows raised. Loki grins at him and then uses Killian’s weight at the other end of his weapon to spin up and kick him in the chest before letting go of the spear, which disappears from Killian’s hands as he skids backwards and nearly falls due to the sudden change in weight.

Loki reappears the spear in his own hand and stabs down, but Killian rolls forward to a crouch and lunges, hitting Loki at the knees. He loses his grip on the spear and then the back of his head cracks into the concrete floor. Killian sits atop him and grabs the god’s neck, his hand brightening, and Loki gasps against the heat that immediately permeates through his Aesir glamour. Deep beneath, his Jotun skin screams.

“You,” Killian seethes, his breath hot on Loki’s face as he pants. “I recognize your face.” 

“I am not easily forgettable,” Loki says, voice strained from the pressure on his windpipe. 

The fire beneath Killian’s skin brightens and inches up his chest and neck until it is all but leaking from his mouth and eyes. “This fight has nothing to do with you.”

“And yet I have qualms with you,” Loki rasps, gritting his teeth against the burning sensation spreading rapidly through his chest. “You’ve kidnapped my ward. I do not take kindly to people taking my things.”

“Uh, your ward?” Stark queries. “Is this an episode of Downtown Abbey or something?”

“Why are you protecting someone like him?” Killian asks, and Loki can see him trying to reel himself in even though he glows as brightly as ever. “He isn’t worth your time.”

“Perhaps he is not.” Loki flicks his wrist at his side and then feels the comfortable weight of his dagger settle there. “But Stark aside, you are most definitely not worthy. Not to this god, anyway.”

Loki swings his arm in an arc, and the blade slides between the man’s ribs beautifully, with almost no hesitation. Killian rears back and screams but does not let go of Loki’s neck. If anything, his grip tightens, so Loki grabs at the man’s wrist and hisses. Even the touch of the man’s skin to his, without any specific focus directed, feels as rending as the fires of Muspleheim. Loki grits his teeth so hard he thinks they may chip, and he writhes beneath the man, trying to throw him off, but still he clenches until the dainty, mortal bones crack. 

In the same moment as Killian emits a roar of pain, raising his other hand to no doubtedly slam it down into Loki’s face, pieces of metal fly through the air, slamming into his back and launching him off of Loki, who quickly climbs to his feet gasping. He barely dodges another piece of metal, which he watches expand before it fits itself snugly around Stark’s leg. 

“Sorry that took so long,” Stark says, now fully cloaked in his suit, though the faceplate remains up so Loki can see the smug grin on his face. “Performance issues. Every one in five, remember?”

Loki bares his teeth. “You infuriating—”

The door slams open as Killian steadies himself, clutching at his wrist with a snarl, even as the bones mend. He looks crazed, and more of his skin than not now resembles molten lava. Three men and a woman rush into the room, armed with guns, but Loki does not think they’ll need to worry about those, not with Stark in his suit. No, he’s quite certain the orange energy beginning to glow softly beneath their skin will be more than enough firepower.

“Welcome to the party!” Stark says, his expression a mask of cheerfulness. “I think your boss is trying to recreate a New Year’s Eve party in which he tried to kill himself because I didn’t want to be his friend. Awkward, right?” 

“Kill them,” Killian sneers. “Both of them.” 

Loki tilts his head to the side. “You think you can kill a god?”

He opens his mouth to reply, but a blast from Stark’s hand repulser slams into his face, forcing him back into the throng of warriors. Tony keeps firing, the bursts of energy as well as smaller projectiles that raise from his shoulders, but he isn’t really aiming. 

“Can you be ready to teleport us in like, five seconds?” Tony asks. 

“What?”

“Teleport, Scotty, yes or no?”

“Yes,” Loki hisses. 

“Great. JARVIS, buddy, be a dear and give our friend Aldrich a hug, he’s having a rough day.”

Loki’s eyes widen, and he doesn’t hear the response of Stark’s ghost, but suddenly the suit is all but melting off of him as pieces of armor disengage. Instead of falling to the floor, they fly across the room to a molten Aldrich Killian, wrapping him up in red and gold metal even as his minions attempt to pry and burn it off. 

“Tony!” Killian roars.

“Loki, time to jet. JARVIS, time for fireworks.”

Loki retrieves the Tesseract and then grabs Stark, yanking him bodily into his chest. They’re swallowed by the magic of the Tesseract just as the as the armor explodes, engulfing Killian and those around him in flames. 

Loki returns them to the room where Pepper is still huddled beneath the desk. She peaks up from behind it when she hears Stark’s “do you ever get used to that, _Jesus Christ_ ,” and then she screeches and is running at the mortal before he can prepare himself. Starks groans upon impact, but wraps her in his arms, his face hidden by her tangled hair. 

“Oh, you’re alive, thank God,” Pepper sobs. “Tony, you _idiot_!”

“I know, Pep, I know.” He rubs soothing circles around her back, and Loki looks away, feeling somewhat uncomfortable with this moment of affection. 

For several long, drawn out seconds, the only sounds in the room are Pepper’s little gasps, but then alarms begin to sound, and red lights flash.

“Loki.”

The god glances over his shoulder. Stark has angled Pepper slightly, so that she’s mostly tucked into his side. Stark himself looks exhausted and disheveled, but there’s a brightness to his eyes that tells Loki a part of him has enjoyed this endeavor. Loki files that away for later. 

“We must go,” he says, “and soon, before the authorities arrive.”

Stark immediately shakes his head. “No. I think Rhodey is here. Killian mentioned the Iron Patriot. I can’t risk leaving him behind. Can you find him?”

“I can, but do you think it wise that I just appear in front of him, given the circumstances?”

“That’s what you did to me,” Pepper states, her lower lip trembling. 

Loki smirks. “You posed no threat.”

Stark waves the concerns away like he’s swatting at an annoying insect. “It’s fine, it’s fine. Just say pumpernickel.”

“What?” Pepper and Loki say at the same time. 

“We have words. You know, like safe words. To help us let the other know if there’s a delicate situation we need help with.” He pauses. “Just say the word.” 

Loki grits his teeth and disappears. He returns first to the room they had just disappeared from, to make sure Killian is dead. Cinders float in the air and smoke billows through the space. If Loki didn’t see the pile of ash with some of the bones still in tact, he would have still known they were dead by the scent of burning flesh.

There are other men with guns, who Loki dispatches quickly, as he jumps from room to room. He is ready to raze the entire maze-like complex to the ground when he finally appears in a room built like an old well, with a gaudily-painted iron suit strung up by simple chains. There are three men with guns glancing around, each staring at the flashing lights nervously. 

Loki uncloaks himself, and before they can squeeze the triggers of their guns, he flings three daggers that hit each man squarely in the chest. They are sprawled across the floor seconds later, leaving Loki to survey the limply hanging Iron Patriot.

“What the fuck,” the man inside the suit exclaims. 

Loki can’t help it, he rolls his eyes. “I was told to say _pumpernickel_ so that you would allow me to assist you.”

“I… what? Tony sent you? I thought you couldn’t mind control him.”

“He is not mind controlled. Can you truly not break free from those measly bindings?” Loki questions, slowly walking forward, head tilted to the side curiously. 

“I don’t like how you’re looking at me right about now. And they disabled the UI so I can’t operate the suit.” 

Loki blinks. “But can you open it?”

There’s silence, and then Rhodes says, “I don’t know if I want to, with you here and all.” 

“You are all,” Loki hisses suddenly, “so very tedious. We need to leave this base _now_ , Colonel Rhodes. Do not make me tear it from your body, as I cannot promise you will be fully in tact when I am done.” 

“Goddamnit, fine!” Rhodes exclaims, and then the suit makes a creaking noise before the front of it opens. Rhodes, dressed casually in jeans and a polo shirt, lands on his feet and immediately takes a defensive stance. “He really told you to say pumpernickel?”

Loki doesn’t answer. He just reaches out, and before Rhodes can fight the hold, Loki teleports them back to Stark and Pepper Potts. 

“Thank God you’re both alive,” Rhodes says, but before Stark can reply, Loki snarls, “hang on to me _now_ , you utter fools” and they do. The Tesseract’s magic engulfs them once again. 

When they appear in Stark’s New York penthouse suite, Loki almost immediately falls to his knees, suddenly and frustratingly unable to keep himself upright. He’s nauseous and weak, his vision is blurry, and his head _aches_. He has enough sense to return the Tesseract to its hidden place, but then he falls forward, barely catching himself with the palms of his hands.

He has felt it before, in small waves, so he knows that use of the Tesseract over and over has some effect on the user. However, he’s never utilized its power this many times in such a short period, let alone with others in tow, and he fears it has taken quite the toll. Stark kneels down next to him, placing a steadying hand on his back, similarly to how he comforted Pepper. Loki is vaguely aware that he speaks, because he can hear what sounds like words, but they are far away. Muffled. So he focuses on the point where Stark’s warm hand presses into his back.

And then his vision goes black. 

***

Loki wakes to a room brightly lit by the afternoon sun. Groggily, he sits up and glances around, his head still swimming slightly. He does not recognize the accommodations, but it is very well furnished and the sheets feel like silk, so he can only assume he is still in Stark Tower. Loki himself is stripped down to Midgardian linen wear that is most definitely not his own and tucked neatly into the plush blankets of the large bed. He sinks back into the pillows and sighs.

“Welcome back, Your Highness. You’ve been asleep for nearly three days.”

“Have I, ghost?” Loki mumbles, combing his hair away from his face. He most definitely needs to bathe. “What has transpired during that time?”

“The remaining living agents of the Mandarin and A.I.M, Aldrich Killian’s company, were apprehended in Miami. Sir, Ms. Potts, and Colonel Rhodes are all well and only suffered mild contusions.” 

“How wonderful for them,” Loki mutters. “I seem to have not fared quite so well.”

“I have informed Sir that you’re awake. He should be up shortly.”

“Why would you do such a thing,” Loki hisses, but the voice does not reply.

Minutes later, the door opens, but it’s not Stark who walks through the door. It is Pepper Potts. She is dressed smartly in pale slacks and a dark blouse. The bruise on her neck would be barely visible above the collar had she not worn her hair tied back. She otherwise looks well-rested, and if Loki had not seen her strapped to that table, he thinks she could very much pull off never having experienced a thing.

“Hello,” she says tentatively. 

“Welcome. I would stand to greet you, but it seems I am indisposed,” Loki grouses, though he makes an attempt to sit up more against the pillows. 

She stands there for a few moments, staring down at him with a blank face, and then, without preamble, she says, “Thank you. For what you did. Tony’s gotten himself out of worse situations, so we probably would have been all right, but because of you we definitely were. So, thank you.”

Loki tries not to show the surprise that wells up in him, but given the raise of one perfected shaped eyebrow, he thinks he has failed. “You are welcome.” 

“I don’t understand why you did it, though. You tried to kill him the last time you were here, which wasn’t that long ago.”

“Alliances change, Ms. Potts,” Loki murmurs with a small shrug. He has done the right thing, for the first time in a long while, and still his motives are questioned. He understands, but he is also so very tired of being forced to prove himself— to Thor, to Odin, to the Other and Thanos. To Tony Stark and his wayward, equally as tiresome companions. “That is all I can say.”

“Tony said you were dodging telling the truth, but I guess that’s par for the course with the God of Lies.” She smirks. 

“I do not always lie, Ms. Potts,” Loki says. “One must tell the truth sometimes, to keep others guessing. But in this instance, choosing to withhold some truths for the better of others involved is not the same as lying.”

“Sounds like a loophole to me.”

Loki grins. “I am so very fond of loopholes.”

Pepper rolls her eyes. “You and Tony will get along swimmingly, then.” She glances at her watch. “Well, I have meetings. A lot of meetings.”

“Then do not let me be the one to keep you.”

“You won’t try, will you?” she asks with her hand on the door knob. “To kill him?”

“I will not. He is too important.”

She glances over her shoulder, and the sad smile she offers him steals the breath from his lips. “I sometimes wish he wasn’t. He’s going to kill himself, one of these days, doing the right thing.”

She leaves before Loki can answer. 

After a time, the god slowly rises from his bed and walks to the window, pressing his hand against the warmed glass. Below him, Midgardians bustle along and automotive vehicles screech and honk. Even after the Chitauri attack, they are all so very basic in their need to move forward. It angers him. Part of him—the part of him that existed before the fateful night in Jotunheim, the part he thought dead—longs for this blissful ignorance.

Instead, he is cursed with knowledge and once again wrapped up in another’s strings of fate. 

“Hey there, Hamlet. Why so glum?”

Loki does not turn around. “Am I to be kept here?”

“Do you want to stay here?” Stark asks. “I mean, I’ve got plenty of room.”

“You know what I mean, Stark. Do not play coy with me.”

“No. No, you’re not meant to be kept anywhere. I don’t know if anyone could keep you, to be honest. Why should I be the one to try? I’ve got enough going on as it is.”

Loki turns to find Stark standing there with his arms crossed, eyebrow raised. 

“But you’re welcome to stay,” Stark adds. “If you want.”

Loki narrows his eyes. “You invite a villain into your home? How scandalous.” 

“People change. Or, gods, I guess.” Stark shrugs, looking unaffected. “Once upon a time I made weapons, and now I make clean energy. We’ve always got the chance to pick another path.”

Loki’s magic surges. He is angry and he doesn’t know why, so even as it drains his meager energy, he allows it to surround him. Stark stiffens, and Loki knows the mortal can feel it even if he cannot see it. “How can you deign to compare yourself to me?” 

“Don’t go throwing a tantrum, okay? You see this?” He taps the glowing device in his chest. “I could have this removed. I’ve done the cardio consults. They could fix me for good. But I don’t do it, even those its very existence makes me weaker. More fallible. Why? ‘Cause it’s a reminder of what I was and of who I am— who I _want_ to be. You told me something similar to that after scaring the shit out of me the other day. That you know who you are. Well, so do I.” 

“You call me Hamlet, and yet your soliloquies are far more infuriatingly long,” Loki spits. 

“Stop. Just stop for a minute, Loki. I’m offering you a chance to belong here. As much or as little as you want. Because it doesn’t seem like I’m going to be getting rid of you any time soon, and also because you saved my life.” Stark takes a few steps towards him. “What I’m trying to say is, I’d like to talk to you about the Avengers Initiative.”

Loki balks. “What?”

Stark grins, the smile transforming his entire face in a way that makes Loki’s pulse jump. “Just kidding. C’mon, you can’t think we’d ask you to join the Avengers after the shit you’ve pulled here.” He rolls his eyes. “But you can join Team Iron Man, at least.” 

“I fear it will be the losing team,” Loki says, disdain dripping from his voice, but he can’t stop the traitorous tilt that tugs at his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, even though I hate writing fight scenes. >_> I hope you enjoyed!


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I 100% happy with this behemoth of a chapter? Absolutely not. Am I posting it because I might break my laptop if I attempt to edit it anymore? Yes. Yes I am. 
> 
> Warning: I attempted to explain how magic works. All I can say is, I tried. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Loki does not stay in Stark Tower for long.

He has seen Stark’s plans for the building. His goal is to make it into a wayward home for Earth’s mightiest idiots to retire to when they are in New York, and Loki wants nothing to do with any of them. Their history and their vitriol for him aside, an expertly crafted spell has kept Heimdall’s all-seeing gaze away from Loki thus far, and he knows that if Thor learns of his whereabouts, the Allfather will stop at nothing to bring him to Asgard to face recompense for his actions. Loki’s quest to watch over Stark will mean nothing to Odin, so he simply cannot risk it. 

But Loki does not go far. He rents an apartment a little ways, one with a beautiful view not obscured by Stark’s obscene skyscraper, and he busies himself with porting his furniture from his Malibu home and rearranging his books on his new bookshelf. When that is done, he takes a few short trips around Midgard to see some of their more beautiful landscapes not yet tainted by industrialization. He reads. He attends the theater, both opera and musical, and finds he has quite the taste for the latter. He goes to festivals with live music and delicate, lacework pastries covered in powdered sugar. He absorbs everything he can. 

It is all tedium, though, at the end of each day. Meaningless moments to keep him occupied and meagerly engaged while Midgard’s villains sleep. So, it only makes sense that he would find himself in the Tower on a semi-regular basis. Boredom aside, Loki is still preoccupied by the fact that Stark’s arc reactor had been able to counter the scepter, which is a particularly powerful item. He should try to learn more about it, as it could be useful, in the forthcoming. 

He spends and inordinate amount of time with Stark after that decision. 

It is fascinating to watch the mortal work, especially now that Loki is able to ask questions and peer over his shoulder without fear of being found out. Stark’s anxious suit-making has slowed considerably, as have his other anxiety-driven behaviors (and his relationship with Pepper Potts, from what Loki can tell), but the man still works like he is running out of time. Stark’s lack of slumber rivals the gods, and somehow he is still able to produce a vast quantity of technology. 

Occasionally, Iron Man business calls him from the confines of his Tower. Even less occasionally, he must go to meeting for his business, though more often than not, Pepper brings the business to him. There are social events, here and there, and press conferences. The Avengers visit rarely, usually only if one or two of them is in town for an event or briefing, and more often than not, they do not stay, which means Stark is left to his own devices most of the time. One would think he would relax, even just a small amount, outside of all the responsibilities he has piled on himself, but instead he tinkers with one of his many cars, or creates another robot for his lab, or learns about some other new science. 

It is a sight to behold, and it does not take long before Loki is quite sure that there are no other mortals like Tony Stark. 

Even so, it takes Stark longer than Loki thought it would before he asks, “Hey, Tall, Dark, and Dangerous, when do I get to scan you? For science. Obviously.”

Loki turns his attention away from the holoscreen he is flicking through, which is currently displaying some schematics for an anti-gravity device, and gives it to Stark. “What purpose would that serve?” 

“Lots of purposes, I’d think,” Stark says, rolling towards Loki on his work stool. He has grease on his hands and a streak on his right cheek, and his eyes are bright though Loki is sure he has not slept nearly enough. “You know, to create anti-magic devices, maybe. Not to use against you, of course. And mostly because I’m curious how it works, and while I talk to you about tech all the time, you never give me any magic voodoo lessons.”

“All right, then. What questions do you have?”

“I pull energy from a power source. Shouldn’t you have to do the same?”

Loki shrugs. “And I do. The capability is innate, so I merely use energy from the world around me to bolster my own, which then enacts change in the physical world.”

“That,” Stark says, pointing a pen at the god, “makes no fuckin’ sense.”

“There are times when I think you incredibly intelligent, and then there are times where I think a rock could provide better conversation,” Loki replies, rolling his eyes. “Inertia, Stark. The tides cannot move on their own. They require the strength of the Moon to do so. It is the same with magic. There is no bottomless well of energy from which to drink. So as not to burn yourself out, you must use that around you as a catalyst. Take Mjolnir, for instance.”

“The hammer,” Stark repeats dutifully. 

“Yes. The hammer is made from uru, a dwarven metal that is as powerful as it is old. It is also easy to spellcast upon, which makes it a particularly important metal for warriors like Thor, who do not possess the innate ability to spellcast.”

Stark raises a brow. “So Thor doesn’t power the hammer?” 

“No, he does not. He is merely capable of wielding it. When Mjolnir’s power surges, storms form with it as dictated by the spell cast upon it so that the hammer has an energy source to pull from.”

“You make it sound easy.”

Loki leans forward and taps at Stark’s chest where the arc reactor is. “You say this, and yet you have a well of nearly unlimited energy capable of great feats inside of your body. You tap into it, just as I tap into the energy around me.” Loki tilts his head to the side. “I wonder…”

Loki flattens his palm against the reactor, and Stark does not break eye contact. It sends a thrill through the god as he reaches his seidr out to the energy that pours forth from Stark’s chest. He feels a jolt the moment they entangle, but it is nothing compared to the way the mortal’s eyes widen and his breath catches. 

“Ah, so I am able,” Loki murmurs.

If Loki were less vigilant or less observant, he would have likely missed the slight change in expression that overcomes the mortal’s face. There’s a strange softness that settles there, and it sets Loki immediately on edge. He does not pull away physically, but he pulls his seidr back. 

“Stark,” he says, voice measured. “Are you well?”

“Tony. Call me Tony.” 

Suddenly, Stark rolls backwards and spins away, leaving Loki confused, his hand still in the air where it had been resting upon the reactor. 

***

Something changes between them. 

Even though they don’t speak of it, Loki can sense it. He knows Stark can sense it, too, because he catches the man watching him more often and more studiously, like he’s trying to break Loki down the way his computer programs do his machines until their inner-workings are exposed. Stark does not play fodder with pretenses, either. He means for Loki to notice, and whenever the god catches him staring, he meets Loki’s gaze, smiling languidly, as if giving him the option to respond. 

Loki is caught off guard, and he does not like being caught off guard.

It is what prompts him to appear in Stark’s garage one day, needing to regain the high ground, and say, “I am interested in the glowing device in your chest.” 

Stark throws his wrench at the god. “Jesus Christ!”

“Not quite,” Loki says after easily ducking the erratic throw.

“I told you not to sneak up on me.”

“Our versions of sneaking are very different.”

“I’m going to teach JARVIS to detect your magic, you menace. You’re like the Predator. How long were you even standing there before I could see you?”

Loki merely smiles. “Your chest, Stark.”

“Are you joking? You’re just randomly popping in here for story time? Who do I look like, David Attenborough?”

Loki raises a brow. “You look to me like a man who enjoys hearing himself talk.” 

Stark opens his mouth, obviously intending to disagree, but then he shrugs, his expression sliding into something more comfortable. “That’s true. What do you want to know?”

“Barton only knew minimal details. I wish to know all of them.” 

“You’re very demanding, has anyone every told you that?” He doesn’t give Loki a chance to reply. “I’m sure you’ve read about me. I’m not even being my normal self-important self here, I just assume you like to do your research.You seem like an all-bases-covered kind of ancient Norse god.”

“Stories told from others tend to leave out details.” 

“If I show you mine, you’ve gotta show me yours.” Stark grins at Loki’s unimpressed expression. “You know, tell me your story. I didn’t ask, once upon a time, because I didn’t want to be disemboweled, but I think I deserve it now. You don’t even have to tell me anything that would jeopardize your 007 mission secrets.”

Loki considers this. There are many reasons not to tell Stark anything, beyond the fact that he had come here to take back the ground he was losing in this strange relationship. His curiosity gets the better of him, though: ever since tasting the energy of the reactor, his interest has been peaked, and he wants to hear Stark’s tale from his own lips, to learn how such a powerful energy came to reside in the chest of a mortal. 

Selfishly, he also wants to see Stark’s reaction to his own. 

“All right. I agree to these terms.”

“Great,” Stark says. He climbs to his feet and wipes his hands on his thighs before he holds a hand out to Loki. When the god doesn’t respond, Tony wiggles the hand dramatically. “This is how you agree to a deal here on boring old Midgard.”

Loki raises a brow. “On Asgard, you would swear a blood oath by clasping your bleeding palms together after you cut them with the same blade.”

“I have commitment issues,” Stark says, but he reaches out and grabs Loki’s hand and he looks so very proud of himself, as if Loki did not allow the mortal to do so without losing a limb. “Story time.”

He knows the outline of Stark’s story. The death of his parents, his war-backed empire, and his near-death experience in the desert, thousands of miles from home. He did not know about the pieces of metal in Stark’s chest that threaten him with death daily, and that the soft blue glow of the device in his chest powers a magnet to keep them from killing him. Stark had mentioned, some time ago, that he could have the device removed but he does not. It makes sense now, and it adds a complexity to the puzzle that is Anthony Stark. 

Loki also did not know all of the details regarding Stark’s near death experience at the hands of Obadiah Stane. That, particularly, strikes a chord in the god. There is no betrayal so poignant as the betrayal of family. Though Loki has lived a very long time, he is no stranger to pain, but nothing ever hurt so starkly as the revelation of his supposed father’s lies. Of his supposed mother’s complacence. Of his brother’s lofted status while Loki was left in the dark as the monster Asgardian children were told about to scare them into obedience. 

Stark tells the story of his first reactor nearly killing him like it is some distant memory that perhaps happened to someone else. He explains that he had to cobble together an entirely new element to make the current model work. Loki nearly laughs because Stark is so very arrogant, and yet he does not seem to realize exactly what he’s done. It is probably for the best. A mortal, even one as clever as Tony Stark, does not need to know that he has created a power to rival an Infinity Stone. Perhaps that is why he is so desperately needed in the war against the Mad Titan.

When it is his turn, Loki is surprised at how willing he is to tell Stark the details of his true parentage. How Odin stole him as a glorified war prize and raised him as both his own and and not his own. About the events that lead to his battle with Thor on the Rainbow Bridge, the one that dropped him right into the waiting hands of Thanos, where he would experience horrors he had not known existed but felt kin to because he himself was a similar beast beneath his beautiful Aesir glamor. 

To his surprise, “Void monsters, am I right?” is all Stark says and then pours Loki a particularly full snifter of Scotch. They spend the remainder of the evening drinking on the roof and talking about unimportant things, but the ease of it all feels like a warm embrace. 

After that, it gets harder for Loki to ignore that strange pull, especially as Stark makes more and more of an attempt to worm beneath his skin.

***

“It’s weird, right?” Stark says one night. He is in one of his many offices with Ms. Potts, papers upon papers strewn across the desk that he is ignoring. “I feel like it’s weird.” 

“For a normal person? Sure.” Pepper tries to hand Tony another stack of papers, then huffs when he refuses to take it and plops it down in front of him with a glare. “But for you? I’m surprised it took this long, honestly. Make sure you sign that, Tony, please.”

Stark twirls his pen, occasionally tapping it against the arc reactor, and signs nothing. “Is this weird for you, Pep? Be honest. I need to know if it’s weird for you to think about me thinking about giving someone else a stupidly large rabbit as a gift.”

“It’s not weird. I don’t expect you to stay single forever. This, though…” She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Why does your libido always lead you to PR disasters?”

“You weren’t a disaster.”

“But you were. And so is he. So is all of this.” 

“Life’s too short to care about PR disasters.”

“You say that as the person who doesn’t deal with the clean up, Tony.”

“Your Highness.”

Loki starts and looks up from his position on the other side of the glass door that leads to the balcony. Then double checks that he is still cloaked in magic. He is… and yet. “You can sense me now, ghost?”

“Sir has been working diligently so you do not do…” There is a pause. “Well, this. Visit unannounced and then loiter in invisibility.” 

“I merely forgot to remove my magic,” Loki lies.

“Of course.” 

“How can you speak outdoors?”

“There are speakers and sensors all around the tower, in case of emergencies. Is there a reason you are observing from the balcony?”

“Sometimes I long to go back to when I was merely involved from the periphery,” Loki admits quietly, returning his gaze back to Stark’s face just in time to see him laugh at something Pepper says. “There is less chance of fallout, and your master and I are old friends of such things. It bodes unfavorable tides for us both.”

“Unfavorable tides do not stop Sir.”

“That is my greatest concern. He has no sense of self-preservation.”

“There we do agree.”

Loki sighs. “Can I request that you do not reveal this conversation to him, ghost? It will only complicate matters.”

“If he were to ask, my directives do not allow me to lie, but unless he does, or this admittance affects his safety, I will keep it to myself.”

“I appreciate this. I will be on my way, then.” He steps back into the magic of the Tesseract before the ghost can reply.

He sits in is apartment that night, a glass of wine in hand, and stares out at the brightly lit city. He has grown used to this backdrop. It is not as opulent as Asgard, but it is beginning to feel like the same bastardized version of home he felt there, and that is better than nothing. 

And Tony Stark is here, of course. 

From this view, he cannot see Stark Tower, and yet he thinks of Stark all the same. Loki is no fool… or perhaps he is the biggest of them all, for allowing this to germinate. It has been so long since someone looked at him the way Stark does that Loki stupidly called it by another name— camaraderie, perhaps, or even friendship— but now that he recognizes it for what it is, for how much farther down it burrows, he does not know what to do with it. He could grasp it and fall into it. 

Lose himself in it. 

He takes a sip of wine and wonders if this possibility came up in Strange’s scan of the timelines. 

***

“Sweet digs,” Stark says one night when Loki returns from a walk. He’s lounging in the armchair, a Stark Tablet open in his lap. “I wasn’t sure about this color palette but it’s growing on me. Should I get you a housewarming gift? Throw pillows, maybe? Or a can opener?”

Loki rolls his eyes. “How did you get in here, Stark? I did not give you my address not a key for a reason.”

“I’m a genius, remember?”

“You do not let anyone forget it,” Loki mutters as he sheds his coat and hangs it by the door. “Why are you here?”

Starks’s playful expression falls into something more controlled. “You haven’t been by in a bit, at least not to chat, and I thought I should tell you that we’ve got a mission.”

“Ah, the Avengers,” Loki croons, causing Tony to offer him a tight-lipped smile. 

They’ve had this discussion before: Stark bursts with pride over his Avengers, and Loki wonders why they even exist as a team in the first place when they do not seem to possess any kind of loyalty. There have been a few instances, including Starks’s dance with Aldrich Killian months before, that caused massive destruction and the threat of death to some of their own, but somehow those instances did not warrant the Avengers coming together to aid their fellow team members. 

It is sloppy.

He doesn’t say it though, because it is very evident that Stark expects him to complain. Instead, he sits on the couch and calmly asks, “What evil warrants such a momentous occasion?”

Stark pouts at Loki’s lack of reaction to his goading. “I know you’ve done some Midgard 101 since you got here, and you know SHIELD, but do you know Hydra?” 

“Yes, what of them?”

“Just a good old infiltration, it seems. Word on the street is they’re trying to steal the scepter. Steve’s concerned about how it’s all going to play out so he wants everyone on standby.” 

“And are you here to ask for my aid?” 

Stark huffs a laugh. “Sometime I wonder if it would be easier, honestly, with your magic mojo, but no, the Avengers Initiative offer is still in the works. However, the Avengers are assembling, which means you’ll want to make yourself scarce at the tower if you don’t want anyone seeing you.”

Loki dislikes how his immediate reaction is one of dismay, even though he has been avoiding spending so much time in Stark’s presence, so he shoves it down and focuses on more important matters. 

“And Thor will be there?”

“So I hear,” Stark replies. “But who knows. SHIELD’s been cleaning up some portal-tastic mess in London that involved Thor and Jane Foster. If you weren’t my shadow, I’d have bet money it was you, so I’m sure SHIELD thought the same. I’m having trouble confirming, though. Ever since I hacked their server during your version of the Blackfish documentary, they keep changing their encryptions. I haven’t been able to get any new information in the last few weeks.” He grins. “Yet.” 

“That was a very long way of saying yes, Stark.” Loki stands. “I appreciate your letting me know. Now, I would also appreciate if you left.”

“So unfriendly,” Stark mutters and stands, then reaches into his pocket and produces a sleek disc, about the size and thickness of his palm. “Here, this is for you.”

“And what, pray tell, is this?” Loki takes it and turns it over in his hands. It is smooth and light, and there are small perforations around the edges. 

“It’s so you have access to JARVIS. He can let you know if there are any issues, or you can check in with me without alerting the others. And before you ask, I don’t have direct access to this line of communication.”

“You’re lying,” Loki says tonelessly.

“Okay, I am.” Stark grins, wide and playful. “But I promise not to abuse it.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it, Stark.”

“I told you to call me Tony.”

“You tell me many things I don’t particularly take heed of.” 

“Fine, fine.” Tony walks towards the door and glances over his shoulder. He looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t speak, just offers a two-fingered wave and leaves. 

***

It is two days later, in the late evening, when the small disc emits a voice for the first time. 

“Good evening, Your Highness.”

“Good evening, ghost. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I wanted to inform you that Sir is on his way to your residence, ETA 15 minutes.”

Loki stiffens. “That sounds like a poor idea indeed, with the Avengers here.”

“Yes, but he has some important information to deliver.”

“He could not do it through you?”

“It would be best delivered in person.”

Loki doesn’t bother to argue. While more polite, the ghost is made in Tony’s image. He knows it will not betray its master.

A short while later, Tony walks in through the front door. There’s a strange air about him, and he lacks his usual energy. Loki immediately prepares for the worst. Are the Avengers aware of his location? Has Thor informed Odin? He is ready run, of course— it’s a possibility that has crossed his mind many a time— but he does not want to. He wants to see this through.

He _wants_ — 

“Stark,” he says, measured. “I assume Thor knows that I am here?”

Tony opens his mouth and then closes it, a look of confusion crossing his face. “I— what? No, he doesn’t know you’re here. Why would you think that?”

“Because the urgency of this meeting sets me on edge,” Loki snaps. 

“Oh.” Tony’s confused expression falls into something that’s almost hurt. “I wouldn’t give you up like that, Loki.”

Loki believes him. Something in him shivers, and by the Norns, he _wants_ , but instead he stands, tossing his book aside. It hits the edge of the sofa and then falls to the floor with a thud, which makes Tony wince, but he stands his ground as Loki stalks towards him. “I would have you say what you’ve come here to say, Stark.”

Tony has to crane his head back when Loki stops mere inches from him. He swallows and says, “Can we sit?”

Loki’s nostrils flare. “This is fine. Tell me, Stark.”

Tony’s expression breaks. “Fine. Your mom’s dead.”

Loki’s brows knit together. “What?”

“Thor told us when he arrived,” Tony says helplessly, and there’s emotion lacing his words, making them sound thicker. “I told you about the portals in London. It was the aftermath of— apparently Jane found something called the Aether, and when it fused with her, Thor took her to Asgard. He said not long after they arrived, some kind of elves attacked the city. Odin’s alive, but your mom… she was killed.” 

Time moves slow for the Aesir and Jotun alike. Loki has lived centuries, and he will likely live centuries more. And yet, time has never felt quite so stagnant as it does in this moment. 

“Oh,” Loki finally replies quietly, voice barely above a whisper. 

He feels Tony’s fingers ghost the back of his hand where it hangs at his side, and the touch ignites that shiver inside of him until he positively quakes. The urge overwhelms him, terrifies him, especially in this moment when he feels like a part of him has shattered, when his desire is tainted by rage, so he turns away, breaking the contact, and puts some distance between them.

He hears Tony sigh. “Loki… what can I do?”

Loki clenches his fists at his side and the energy pours out of him like water from behind a broken dam. Furniture flies in every direction and pictures are torn from the walls. The sound of something shattering is deafening. He hears Tony curse and scramble. 

“Where,” he hisses, green fire beginning to crackle around him, “is Thor?”

“Loki, will you just hold on a goddamned minute?” Tony says, voice firm. 

Loki spins around, and he relishes in the way the mortal’s eyes widen. He imagines he must look otherworldly, with his magic illuminating him like some avenging angel, but Tony— oh, this stupid, breathtaking man— does now cow so easily. He takes a step towards Loki. 

“Can we just take a minute?” he tries again, this time his voice quieter. “Please.”

Loki jerks his head to the side. “I cannot.” 

And then he disappears. 

He reappears in the tower in his leathers, though he remains invisible, and the ghost speaks to him, but he ignores it. It is easy to find Thor and the others. They are in one of Tony’s Avengers specific meeting rooms near the top floor, filled with holoscreens and other technology that Loki wants to watch crackle, crumble, and burn around them. 

None of them react to his presence, but Thor can sense it. He turns his head suddenly, looking around, and holds up a hand to the others as they question him about his sudden change in demeanor. 

“Brother,” Thor says lowly, and Loki grins as he watches the Avengers all glance around wildly.

Loki removes his cloaking while still several feet in front of Thor, who is turned completely to face him now. His expression is full of both hurt and frustration.

“She is dead, I have heard,” Loki snarls, and takes a step forward. Everyone else, aside from Thor, moves back slowly. The Widow has her gun drawn and the Hawk has his bow, a raging hatred in both of their eyes. The Captain stands with one hand planted firmly on Banner’s shoulder, as if trying to hold the green beast back by sheer force of will, and Banner, bless him, only looks a little bit green around the edges. 

Thor does not move, nor does he reach for Mjolnir. “She is.” 

Loki’s anger is fueled by the tears that prick at the corners of his vision. His magic flows, causing his leathers and hair to float around him, and he takes another step forward. “The Almighty Thor, so powerful, trusted by Odin and loved by all for his strength and bravery, could not do so much as keep his mother safe, and now she is dead.”

“I know you grieve, brother, as do I, but that is—”

“I am not your brother!” Loki barks, and items in the room begin to shake where they stand. 

Thor ignores his outburst, his face equally twisted with emotion. “She died with bravery. She died protecting Asgard. She died sure that there was good left in you.”

“Do not use this to attempt to sway me. Such intelligence is above your capability,” Loki spits. “Tell me, Thor, Son of Odin, did she suffer alone, while you protected that harpy of a Midgardian woman instead?”

For the first time, Thor’s eyes light up in anger, and at his hip, Mjolnir crackles.

Behind him, the Avengers prepare to strike. 

Everyone, Loki included, flinches when Iron Man literally crashes through the window, shards of glass flying. The Hawk grabs the Widow and drags her down to avoid the worst of it, and the Captain uses his shield to block himself and Banner, who looks like he is ready to burst. Iron Man lands next to Thor, his faceplate immediately rising to expose his stricken expression, and he holds out a placating hand, repulsers powered down.

They have both been sentimental fools.

“Loki, please,” Tony implores. 

Thor looks at Tony with the most confused expression that Loki can’t help it— he throws his head back and laughs.

“Oh, how rich this will be,” he says, his words like daggers, “as today seems to be all about betrayals. Tell them, Stark, how you have spent your recent time. Tell them what I am to you.”

“This does not need to happen.” Tony’s voice is firm, but his dark eyes are pleading. “Not like this, Lokes, please.”

“Stark,” the Captain says, the name coming out like a demand, “what is he talking about?”

“Lokes?” both the Widow and Hawk repeat.

“Yes, Stark,” Loki whispers, looking at the mortal from beneath his lashes. “What am I talking about?”

Tony closes his eyes briefly and breathes in deeply through his nose, the muscles in his jaw jumping. He readies himself, Loki realizes. For war and blame and whatever else his patchwork team can throw at him, and he will take all it without a backwards glance. Tony Stark is many things, and he has many flaws, but Loki knows that despite Tony’s adoration for the Avengers, he sits outside of them, both by his and their own design. He will always be an other. He is too intelligent, too daring, too capable, too headstrong and determined and so many other things, to ever fit in as as well as he would want. 

And for a brief, nearly fleeting moment, mingled with his devastation and anger and cruelty, Loki feels regret because Tony Stark is not too much for him, and he should have taken the bait. He should have _taken_ — 

In that same moment, Tony opens his eyes. They glimmer green in the emanating light of Loki’s magic, but even more striking is the resoluteness there. They stare at each other for several seconds, the words of the others falling deaf on Loki’s ears, and then Tony whispers so lowly that it’s barely audible. “Get out of here, now.” A pause, and then, “Please.” 

Loki bares his teeth because he knows he will do it. _He wants he wants he wants_ , and even though he cannot have because the fates would never look down upon him so kindly, for Tony Stark, he will do it. The realization may have doused any other creature’s fury, but all it does is crush Loki more with the weight of it and add fuel to the fire burning within him. 

“Brother,” Thor says again, hesitant, and _oh_ , Thor is not oblivious to the strange tension between Loki and Tony. Loki knows he sees it as he glances between them. 

“Curse you,” Loki sneers, unsure if he means Thor or Tony, and he pulls the Tesseract out so they can all see it. He wants them to feel failure, to completely and utterly drown in it, once they realize they have lost this precious, powerful item to him not once, not twice, but three times. And just as they react, their eyes widening with the deep blue of the Tesseract reflected in them, he is enveloped by nothingness, and then he is gone. 

***

“Tell me, ghost,” Loki says. He stands in the middle of his living room, the disc in hand, and surveys the mess, already mourning the loss of the home he’s built here. “If I were to keep this device with me while I travel far from Midgard, would I be able to reach you?”

“Unfortunately not,” the voice replies, and if Loki isn’t mistaken, there’s a despondency reflected in its tone. 

Loki closes his eyes and huffs a sad laugh. “That is unfortunate, but perhaps it is best.” 

“Where will you go?”

“A long ways from here. I do not yet have a firm plan. ”

“Will you return?” 

“I do not know that, either,” Loki answers honestly. “Will you deliver a message to him?” 

“Of course.”

There is so much he could relay, but requesting the ghost be a messenger of such things doesn’t sit well with Loki. Even though he knows the message will reach Tony, words have meaning and they hold power, and he would want that to come directly from his own mouth. So instead, he says, “Tell him I did warn him, once upon a time, that things change rapidly, and that I do truly hope he does not get himself killed on the chance that I return.” 

***

He still takes the disc with him.


	5. Five

The universe is vast. More vast than he realized.

Loki plans to take advantage.

He considers making a stop in Asgard, to pay respects to his mother, but the thought of it blooms a bad feeling in his chest. It is reminiscent of the fateful night he stopped at Stark Tower to throw the mortal from a window and finish what he started during the invasion. That did not go as planned, and instead his entire existence was turned upside-down, all because these moronic Midgardians couldn’t do a damned thing right. He wonders how things would have moved forward if he had not stolen the Tesseract… again. If he had not meet Dr. Stephen Strange, or Tony Stark. If had he gone, instead, to Asgard as a prisoner. 

Perhaps he would have been there to save his mother when the Dark Elves came. 

He does not allow himself to go down that road, because if he does, he is sure he will destroy anything he can get his hands on. There is nothing he can do about it, not now. Frigga is dead. He cannot go back, even if he were able to somehow harness Strange’s power, but the sorcerer was very clear that the past remained the past, and Loki only wants to move forward.

He deserves to move forward.

***

On the off chance that anyone— Thor, Strange, Odin, Thanos— come looking for him, Loki hides in Niflheim for a short time, camped in a dry, cold cave veiled with thick fog and far from the gates of Hel, but also far from anything else. It is rare that anyone other than the dead travel through these mists, too fearful of Helheim’s proximity. Most would also find the experience uncomfortable, dismal, and damp. However, after recent events, Loki is happy to settle on soft moss with a small fire and no living soul nearby… and with the disc in his hand. 

“You are sure you cannot hear me, ghost?” he asks one night, in a moment of weakness. 

There is only silence.

He returns the disc to its hiding place, and he does not take it out again for a long while.

***

After several weeks of rest and silent meditation, Loki begins to travel, and the sheer number of planets he discovers is astronomical. As a boy, he and Thor were allowed to accompany Odin during his parades around the Nine Realms, but they never traveled outside of it. Honestly, for a long time, Loki did not know there was more to see. 

Now it is at his fingertips. 

He visits Ibos, a rocky realm with a single but vast ocean and cliffs that jut so high into the clouds that he cannot see the peaks. The civilizations here are simple, unencumbered by a significant amount of technology, which Loki find particularly desirable right now. The days are long, and the nights are longer, and in the early dawn and dusk hours, small, lilac flowers bloom and emit an eerie, orange glow that invigorates his magic. The native people, with their pale pink skin and strange blue eyes, harvest them for spellwork and particularly potent poultices. Loki stays with them for a while, learning Ibai magic and divination from their shaman. When he leaves, they gift him with a set of runes carved not unlike those his mother used to toss and read. 

He visits Histaea next. The foliage is colorful, the trees are tall, and the rain water is sweet. The planet’s two suns mean there is very little darkness, so the Enu, a reptilian people, live beneath the leaf canopies and hunt large flying insects with advanced net contraptions. They are not particularly fond old Loki, but they do not chase him out, either, so he observes them for a short time before moving on. 

Contraxia is… well. The planet itself is hard and cold, with little beauty or functionality to recommend it. The areas that are inhabited are merely temporary stops, mostly for Ravagers who wish to partake in the warmth of another or a piss-poor beverage. Or, perhaps, they want to gamble away the last of their livelihood. It reminds him of a dirtier, much less opulent version of Las Vegas. There are too many people. He stays very briefly and speaks to almost no one. 

And so, his travels continue in this manner. Desert planets; uninhabited planets; water-laden planets; archaic and advanced planets. He stays short amounts of time on most, only long enough to wait for the drain the Tesseract puts on his body with such far-off travel to fade. When it does, he moves on to the next watering hole. He spends longer amounts of time on others, enjoying the magic or peoples he finds. He tries not to think of Tony, and he succeeds some of the time, but not as often as he would like. 

He spends some time on bustling Sakaar. It’s a strange, chaotic planet whose time moves differently than other realms, though Loki cannot figure out why. It is filled to the brim with scrappers that all bow to the same being— a flamboyant, very wealthy and powerful man who calls himself the Grandmaster. His scavengers scour the galaxy for worthy fighters, whom they toss in a stadium together to fight to the death while the masses cheer, drunk on violence, gambling, and ale. That being said, lips are loose here, and it is easy for Loki to sweet-talk information from travelers about the happenings of the galaxy farther away from Sakaar. He is able to collect very little information regarding Asgard or Midgard, or even of the Titan. He doesn’t know if this is good or bad, but he has learned in his travels to take things as they come. 

He has half a mind to stay on Sakaar for quite a while, perhaps endear himself to the Grandmaster, but eventually, his luck runs out. He is strolling the streets one warm afternoon, his magical guise firmly in place to limit the chance that he is recognized, and as he studies the goings on, he sees a… he stops and stares. 

The Valkyrie haven’t been seen in a very long time, but he would not mistake the markings on the woman who drags a blue humanoid through the dirt. He wriggles around uselessly and screams expletives, tangled in a net that occasionally sends bolts of electricity through him, making him flop even more like a fish. Loki remembers how his mother loved to tell stories of the Valkyrie when Loki and Thor were children. War-hardened women who flew on winged horses and protected Asgard from serious threats. They had been nearly wiped out, in a war long ago. 

Loki avoids this woman the remainder of his time on the planet. While she seems loyal to none, he cannot risk her sending word to Asgard. 

He leaves soon after seeing her.

***

He is on Xandar, relaxing in the square while peeling a piece of fruit similar in size and taste to a clementine, except that it is bright purple, when he sees an agile, green-skinned woman darting through throngs of people, a metal artifact in her hand and her striking magenta hair streaming behind her in the beautiful afternoon sunlight. 

In his travels, Loki has come to realize that many people are aware of Thanos even if they try not to speak of him. He has destroyed planets and civilizations, coating the galaxy crimson. Because of this, many people also know of Gamora, the favorite daughter of Thanos. She is beautiful and deadly, and she has made quite the name for herself recently by aiding the Kree fanatic Ronan, who touts himself a Destroyer and a God. While Loki never interacted with either of them before, he recognizes Gamora. He had seen her a few times, and even the darkness of the void planets could not dim the glow of her green skin.

He leans against a railing and watches with interest as something flies through the air and tangles around her ankles, causing her to fall forward with a strangled yell. She leaves the sphere on the floor and untangles herself with jerky, angry movements, just in time to bring her knees to her chest and slam the bottoms of her boots into her pursuer’s chest. 

A Midgardian man, by the looks of it.

Loki rolls his eyes. Another Midgardian. 

They struggle on the ground, kicks and punches being thrown in a rhythm that seems almost choreographed, before the Midgardian attempts to grab his gun. Gamora slings herself on top of him, crouched so that she can step on his wrist, and says something with her hair streaming wildly around her face before drawing her knife and raising it above her head. 

And then she is tackled to the ground. By a… Loki is not sure what the little mongrel is, but it is screaming “put him in the bag!” and “not her, you idiot!” because there is a _flora collossus_ standing there, extended branches wrapping around Gamora even as he tries to to shove her inside of a body bag. The three of them struggle, and the Midgardian man grabs the sphere and runs. 

Loki pops a piece of fruit into his mouth and chews happily. This reminds him of films he watched on Midgard. 

Gamora gets away, tossing the little woodland beast into a glass display some ways away, and then slices at the tree before throwing a knife at the Midgardian, catching the sphere just right to knock it from his hand. Loki is, despite himself, impressed, because not many can rival his skills with a dagger, but he thinks this woman could.

Xandarian lunches are ruined as this strange game of cat and mouse continues, but Loki is more intrigued as the fighting nears his place in the square. Gamora gets the sphere, and then the Midgardian takes it back before launching her into a fountain. He looks so very pleased with himself that he does not notice the _flora collossus_ behind him, body bag held out, and Loki doesn’t notice either, but for a completely different reason.

 _The energy._ It radiates from the sphere in thick, heavy waves, and while most of the individuals in this square do not seem magic-sensitive and are therefore unaffected, Loki is not. The force of it makes the hair along his arms and the back of his neck stand on edge, and in its dimensional pocket, the Tesseract thrums its awareness in the same way it and the scepter reacted to each other on Midgard. He grips the remainder of his fruit until purple juice streams through his fingers. 

He watches the rest of this ridiculous interaction unravel with a sense of numbness. If Thanos’ daughter is here hunting another Stone, he cannot stay. The risk is too high. It means Thanos moves, officially, towards his end goal, and who is to say Gamora is here alone? Loki is well aware that Thanos has other adopted children in his arsenal, some of whom possess a sensitivity to magic. They would be able to sense the Tesseract immediately. 

But he is tired of running, and oh, there are so many things to run from. Plus, Strange had told him, many moons ago, that he could go to the edges of the universe and not find safety. So why? Why continue running, when he can never run far enough? So, maybe it was bound to happen, something coming along to swing him back towards Midgard. 

Back to the cocky grin of Tony Stark.

First, however, he wants answers. 

The ragtag group of idiots are all captured by the Nova Core in a startlingly anticlimactic end and sent to the Kyln, a nearby prison filled to the brim with murderers and thieves. Loki teleports in under guise of invisibility and listens to the whispers of the prison throughout the day, watching as the four settle in and waiting until the lights are dimmed. Those who seek her death—and there are several, unsurprisingly—eventually skitter back to their darkened corners before Loki finally appears in Gamora’s cage. 

“Daughter of Thanos,” he says, and she turns on him with a wild look and her teeth bared. 

“Who are— wait.” She narrows her eyes and takes a step forward. “I recognize you.” 

Loki smiles blandly, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. “I hoped you would, since we crossed paths occasionally in the void. Now, on to more important matters, as we do not have much time. I need to know about the sphere.” 

“As if I would tell you,” she spits.

Loki does not blame her hesitation, but he does not have time for this. 

“There is chatter around the halls,” he murmurs silkily, eyes narrowing. “That you were tasked to retrieve the sphere but planned to keep it for yourself. That you have admitted you mean to betray Ronan and therefore Thanos, as well. Is it true?”

Gamora sneers but doesn’t answer. She looks like a cornered beast, and that is more telling than anything. She thinks she looks intimidating, but Loki is the God of Lies, and he is an old friend of this particular type of fear. It is too much to tuck away into some stoic exterior, not when your very life depends on what you fear the most. 

But she is also angry. It burns inside of her, and it will all play to Loki’s advantage. He wants her afraid, and he wants her angry. 

“He cannot have it, the sphere. You may not feel it, but I can. The power it harnesses is unimaginable.”

Her nostrils flare. “I assume you want it for yourself and that’s why you’re here.”

Loki laughs, but it’s not a humorous sound. “Oh, no. You are very mistaken. I already have my own version of that which Thanos wants, and I do not wish to increase my bounty by acquiring another. My work is cut out for me yet without adding to my baggage, especially if I plan to live long enough to see his empire fall.”

She tilts her head to the side and studies him silently for several moments, as if trying to read the truth in his words. Eventually, her expression fades until it is something unreadable, even to Loki. “Then why are you here?”

“We have a common goal. Or at least the foundation of one. Do you have means to hide it? To protect the sphere?” 

Her facade falls ever so slightly, exposing a tiny sliver of desperation. “I think so.”

“Do not think, girl,” Loki hisses, stepping forward. “You cannot allow him to have it, do you understand me? The fate of more than you can imagine rests upon it.”

“Oh, yes, I know,” she says lowly, and Loki believes her. She is the beloved daughter, after all, so of course the Titan would task her to help him in his infamous quest. They are both lucky, then, that family is not enough bond for many to entice complete and utter loyalty. 

Gamora’s eyes are glassy in the dim artificial light. “He will destroy me, when he finds out.” 

“If you do not succeed, he will destroy us all,” Loki says simply, and then he is gone.

That night, he lies in a plush, white-sheeted bed in one of Xandar’s top hotels, his hair still damp and his skin still warm from the scalding bath her took after visiting the Titan’s daughter. He holds the Tesseract in one hand, angling it this way and that so he can watch the lights it casts on the walls dance and change. In the other hand, he holds the disc. 

By his calculations, after his stint on Sakaar and its strange flow of time, he has been gone nearly two Earth years. He knows not what has happened in that time, and he isn’t sure if he would be welcomed after so long. He isn’t sure if Tony Stark is even alive. He hopes that he is, assumes that he is or Strange would have hunted him down. But if he is, all of this will be for naught, and it will be his fault.

If Tony is alive… Loki isn’t sure how it will go, with the way they left things. 

The Tesseract and disc disappear with a small spark as Loki climbs from the bed and sheds his clothing. He sits down on the plush flooring and grounds himself, paying attention to the sound of Xandar beyond the large bay windows; the touch of his hair on his bare shoulders; the smell of spices from the Xandarian soap he had lathered on his skin. He closes his eyes and melts into the sensations, just as the shaman on Ibos taught him. 

He retrieves the runes and holds them so tightly in his hand that they bite into the flesh of his palm. Frigga had tried to teach him how to read the threads, once upon a time, but he was not patient enough. All he cared about was proving himself to his father, who sometimes looked at him with a calculating expression that spoke only of craftiness and nothing of love. He regrets it now, not listening more to his mother and absorbing all she could have taught him. 

He finds that he regrets a lot of things. 

He breathes in, and then he tosses the runes to the floor.

When he opens his eyes, he surveys the placement of the smooth stones, but he already knows what they will say. The Ibai shaman had explained that these runes, like those of the Norns, were imbued with spells of truth. He had laughed at the time, because what truth magic could best the God of Lies, but he has come to realize that the runes do not tell you the truth of others. Instead, they only serve to tell you what your own innermost desires are. It was not about divination or fortune telling, like he saw advertised often on Midgard in little shops with neon palms in the window. It was about digging deep into your own core and expelling things you might wish to hide, from yourself and others. The runes only care about want and desire and of the orientation of your core. 

His points to Midgard, and he has been gone too long. He laughs at the thought. What would Thor think, if he knew Loki sat in faraway realms and yet longed to return to Midgard, of all the places. 

The next morning as he dresses, he watches the Xandarian news that is projected onto the wall. It talks about a jailbreak at the Kyln, and Loki can’t stop himself from grinning. So, Gamora has escaped. He expects she will not have an easy road ahead of her, not with Ronan and Thanos on her tail, but it is time for them, the cursed children of the gods, to take their fate back into their own hands. 

When he is ready to depart, Loki holds the Tesseract close to his chest and closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, he is in Tony Stark’s New York workshop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter count keeps going up. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	6. Six

The workshop has changed in small ways, but overall, it is much as Loki remembers it. The air is laden with the scent of grease, and there are a few armored suits standing against the walls like statues of retired warriors erected in the catacombs. The lights are off, though, and there is no sign of Tony Stark. Upon closer inspection, it looks like he may not have been here recently at all. 

It does not bode well. 

“Loki, Prince of Asgard,” an accented woman’s voice says. “There are still presets in my system concerning you, but they’re a few years old now.”

“Who are you?” Loki demands, turning to look around, but eventually settles his eyes on the ceiling when he sees no one else in the room. “Where is the ghost?”

“You’ve been gone a long time, Your Highness. A lot has changed. The program you knew as ghost, or JARVIS, was forcibly decommissioned. I am FRIDAY, Boss’ new artificial intelligence user interface.”

Loki feels a strange sensation in his chest at the words _forcibly decommissioned_ , but he doesn’t verbalize it or even think on it. Instead, he asks, “And where is your master?” 

There’s silence, and then the voice says, “I don’t have that information. Last communication was received from Siberia two hours ago, but he has since gone silent.” 

Before Loki can request more information, the door to the workshop opens with a whoosh. Loki turns, and he hates how painfully disappointed he is when it is only Pepper Potts who stands there. She looks the same as she had the last time Loki saw her: thin and perfectly manicured, her feminine form complimented by the dress she wears. Her makeup is smeared slightly on her face, though, hinting that she has received bad news recently. 

“Loki?” she asks, eyes wide. “You’re really back. I thought FRIDAY’s notification was a bug or something.”

“I am,” Loki says and nods his head in greeting. “Hello, Ms. Potts.”

The surprised falls into something almost accusatory. “Where have you been?”

“Many places, but I am—” He almost says _home_ , but corrects himself at the last minute. “I am back. I would like to speak to Stark. Your new ghost was just explaining that he has gone dark.” 

Her nostrils flare and her voice rises as she speaks. “You’re back. That’s it? That’s all you have to say? You told me you were here to protect him, and everything has been a disaster since you left!”

“A disaster?” Loki repeats, caught off guard. 

“He nearly died in Sokova keeping a goddamned city afloat, but that was after JARVIS was destroyed and a maniacal AI ran rampant. And that woman that joined, I just—I can’t even begin to explain what she did to his head. He’s been a wreck. And then all this fighting with the Avengers and the Accords, and Rhodey almost died, except he’s _only_ paralyzed from the waist down, as if that’s some consolation prize, but what do you care, right? You were only supposed to keep him alive so someone else can walk all over him, and he’s still alive, at least I think so, but who knows since FRIDAY hasn’t been able to reach him in hours!”

When she finally stops to breathe, her face is flushed. She looks near tears, and Loki has absolutely no idea what to do. He stands there, staring back at her, and the silence that settles over them is painful.

“Can you find him?” she finally says, swallowing thickly. “Can you please find Tony and bring him back?”

“I will find him,” Loki states, then glances up the ceiling. “Ghost, I need to know his exact location, or at least an approximate location. I have never been to Siberia, so it will be difficult for me to teleport to him without such details.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The ghost provides coordinates and even displays them for Loki on a map, along with satellite images of the facility and the surrounding area. He considers asking for more information, not about Sibera but about what rift has torn apart the Avengers, but it can wait— he needs to find Tony first. 

“Ms. Potts, I will return, truly this time.”

He leaves before she can reply. 

He finds himself in a bitterly cold, Siberian compound, surrounded by cracking concrete and old, rusted metal. There is debris and dust littering the floor, so it must have gone uninhabited for some time, but there are faint footprints, several sets, in fact, so he knows he is in the right place. After a few moments, when Loki still hears no voices or sounds, he ventures further into the compound. There are lights on, glowing a sickly orange, and they flicker every so often. 

The halls eventually lead to a large, wide room that houses a silo, and to say the room has been damaged would be an understatement. Smoke hangs in the air, mingling with the smell of blood, gun powder, and the very distinct smell left by Tony’s repulsors. The remains of several complex glass and metal chambers are crumpled in various states of destruction, and Loki can see bodies inside of them, crushed or impaled by glass and metal. They do not move. Small fires still burn around parts of the attached machinery, and most of the pipes and scaffolding are shredded after having been ripped from the walls, along with large chunks of concrete. 

Loki slowly turns in a circle, surveying the damage with a growing sense of dread that is colder than the Siberian bunker. His magic calls out for the energy of Tony’s arc reactor, but he doesn’t feel it. Nothing at all. This place is desolate. 

“You cannot be dead,” he hisses, his words barely above a whisper. “You _cannot_. I will not allow it, Stark.”

He receives a reply from below, the sound of metal scraping rock. The god’s eyes widen, and then he is grabbing the rail and hauling himself over it. The fall down the shaft to the lower deck of the silo is a short one, but he still lands with a loud thud that echos. Dustings of snow and debris scatter in clouds around him. 

And there, lying alone and broken, is Iron Man, his helmet off and his arc reactor shattered. 

Loki isn’t quite sure how he feels. There’s a numbness spreading through him, as if his own body wants to protect him from the utter devastation and fury building up in him at a dangerously rapid speed upon seeing this lively, energetic, stubborn man strewn about the floor like scrap metal on Sakaar. He recalls Pepper’s comment about the Avengers fighting between themselves as he glances around, and he did not realize until now, when he sees the Captain’s dingy, cracked shield sitting unassumingly on the ground not far from Tony’s body, that she meant it literally. 

And then there’s the reactor. Once upon a time, Loki would have done the same if he’d known just how reliant Tony Stark’s life was on the glowing contraption, but to think, his own shield-brother has crushed it while it was still in his chest and then left him to die a slow and painful death… 

Loki wonders how many limbs he would have to remove before the super soldier started to scream. 

Tony’s eyes open slightly, wandering for a moment before they land on Loki. His pupils are dilated, so much so that his irises look black, but when he squints, he immediately chuckles, his breathing ragged and slightly wet, before lying his head back down. 

Loki breaks from his red-tinted daze and kneels at the man’s side, placing a hand to his bruised cheek. Tony grunts but leans into the touch, his eyebrows drawing tightly together and creasing his bruised forehead.

“Stark,” Loki says quietly, his thumb tracing the curve of a cheekbone. “Look at me, Stark. Open your eyes.”

Tony acquiesces. It takes him a moment to focus— a concussion would be the very best scenario, Loki thinks darkly— and his lips quirk. “I’m hallucinating, right? Or I’m dead. Probably dead.”

“You are not, you foolish mortal. I am here with you now.”

Tony blinks up at him a few times, and once the realization hits that this may indeed be real, the self-deprecating smile slips from his face. “You left.”

“I have returned, and just in time, it seems.” Loki places his other hand above the shattered arc reactor and probes with his magic. The damage is not merely to the power supply in the Iron Man suit, as he had hoped even if it was unlikely. It extends down into the actual reactor. The numbness falls away like shattered glass, and the fury blossoming in him right now, fed and watered by the darkness he sees amidst the cracked glass, nearly chokes him. “Stark, how long have you been this way?”

“I dunno,” he whispers hoarsely, still staring up into Loki’s face like he’s looking upon a ghost. “A while. Where ya been? How was space? You bring me back anything? I like souvenirs.”

Oh, how he missed Tony Stark’s particular way of conversation and avoidance. “How long do you have, Stark, if the reactor is destroyed?”

Tony closes his eyes and hums thoughtfully. There are tears at the corners, threatening to fall. “A couple hours before real damage is done. Pretty sure it’s already been that. Sun’s a lot lower than I remember.”

“You—” Loki snarls, but he can’t even allow himself to finish the sentence, or he might literally scream. He hauls the suited man up and partially into his lap so he can better hold on to him for the upcoming travel. 

Tony emits a pained groan, his entire face contorting. 

“Stark, I need to know this before we go. Do you have a replacement in New York?”

“Yeah,” Tony murmurs, then: “Didn’t think you’d be back.”

Loki ignores the statement and begins to whisper an incantation of protection, his magic flaring green around them both. He does not know what the Tesseract will do to Stark, being as injured as he is, and he cannot risk it killing the man before he has a chance to return him to the Tower and somehow slot a new reactor into his chest. 

“Feels warm,” Tony says with a lopsided, weak smile. “Four star treatment. Would have been five if you were wearing a sexy nurse—”

“If you do not stop speaking, Stark, I will save you just to kill you myself,” Loki hisses.

Tony laughs. “Kinda missed you, Lokescicle.” 

Loki cannot reply. His emotions run rampant inside of him like some great and terrible storm, but he cannot let them distract him, not when Tony’s life may be the cost. He pours his own seidr into the incantation, then retrieves the Tesseract and thinks of the workshop. 

He thinks he hears Tony scream as they enter the wormhole. 

Pepper is still there working on one of the holoscreens, and she jumps, the stool flying backwards, with a stifled scream when they appear. She is formidable though, and Loki sees the exact moment her expression changes from frightened woman to a towering, unmovable presence. He thinks this is how she has managed Tony Stark and his business for so long— being able to alternate between these two sides of herself readily.

“FRIDAY,” she says, her voice demanding followthrough. “I want that suit off of him now, and activate Protocol R2D2. God, I hate the names he choses for these things. I also want that replacement in his chest in under five minutes, do you hear me?”

“Already on it, Ms. Potts,” the spirit replies. “Your Highness, I would request that you place Boss on that table there, and we’ll take care of the rest.”

Loki does as he’s told and watches as the machines in the room power up. Loki has seen a few of them at work before. They generally serve a combination of friend and comedic interlude to Tony’s brilliance, but now, with all of them in motion, it is a sight to behold. They dismantle the armor with speed and precision, and they work in-tandem without a single hitch in their machinations. 

He does not realize that Pepper has moved towards him until she grabs his hand. She does not look at him, just squeezes, her gaze fixated and hard even though tears well in her eyes and spill down onto her cheeks. Loki considers shaking her off, but instead squeezes her hand back, just once, and turns his attention back to Tony. He feels somewhat overwhelmed, between Tony’s words in the compound and this woman’s firm, reassuring touch. 

“Preliminary scans show shrapnel has moved by 4.2 centimeters, but no critical damage has been done.”

“That you, FRIDAY?” Tony slurs from where he lies on the table.

“It is, Boss. Welcome home. How’re you feeling?”

“Oh, you know. Just another day in the neighborhood.”

“You’ve got a concussion, three fractured ribs, a broken finger, multiple lacerations, including two that will likely need stitches, and a pulmonary contusion.”

“Like I said, just another day.”

Tony stares up at the ceiling as the shattered arc reactor is removed with special care. Thin, metal forceps reach in to pull out shard after shard of glass, and Loki isn’t even aware that another machine has produced a replica, which glows that comforting, soft blue that Loki did not know he missed this much until he sees it and something in his chest swells. 

“Ready, Boss?”

“Lay it on me, FRIDAY,” he says, takes a deep breath, and holds it.

The reactor slots into place with a resounding click. Stark gasps with the sudden energy shock to his system, arching off the table for a moment, before he falls back down and does not move.

“FRIDAY,” Pepper says, a note of panic in her voice.

“Vitals are stabilizing, but he’s passed out.” 

“Oh, thank god,” Pepper whispers and rubs a hand over her face, smearing tears and mascara across her cheeks. 

“I’ve already requested paramedics. He’ll need more medical care than he’ll be able to receive here.” 

“I should not be here, Ms. Potts, when the authorities arrive,” Loki says quietly, turning slightly toward her even though he is loathe to take his eyes off of Tony. 

Pepper nods, letting out a shuddering breath. “Yeah, that’s probably wise. You can wait upstairs in the penthouse if you like. I’ll have FRIDAY relay updates as I have them on his condition.”

“I appreciate your hospitality.” 

“You could also go back to your apartment,” she adds, giving him a pointed look that could wither the strongest of warriors. “He bought the place, you know, right after you left. In case you came back. He said he knew how much you liked your couch.”

“Paramedics have arrived, Your Highness,” the ceiling spirit says before Loki can reply, and he is grateful, because he does not know what to say.

So, he ports to the penthouse, and he waits. 

***

He hears from FRIDAY once, several hours after the ambulance leaves, sirens screaming, who just informs him that Tony is well and will likely be released sometime in the coming day. Once the communication leaves, Loki ports back to the Siberian compound to retrieve the Captain’s shield, which lies where it was left. 

He does not go back to the penthouse immediately. He stops at his old apartment and finds what what Pepper said was true: it is still his apartment. Items that were broken during his rage-filled departure have been mended, and everything is as he left it. There is no sign that anyone had been here, except Loki sees creases on the sofa cushions, informing him someone had come here often enough to wear the fabric down. Loki stares at the spot for several minutes, fists clenched at his sides, before he leaves. 

Back at the penthouse, night comes and goes, and Loki stands at the large bay window, staring out the the slowly waking city. He feels like he is back on Sakaar, where time flowed strangely and only those sensitive to such things could even feel it. He itches to speak to Tony, to _actually_ speak to him. He wants to tell him about his travels, and he wants to know what happened to so irrevocably destroy the Avengers, to pit shield brother against shield brother.

It takes Thor longer to show up than he anticipated. 

Just as the sun rises above the buildings, thunder sounds even though the skies are clear. Loki sits down, overtaken by a bone-deep weariness that is only exacerbated by the conversation he needs to have with the Thunderer. 

Loki hears a thud, and then Thor is walking through the door to the rooftop deck, red mantle flowing behind him. He looks unchanged and incredibly unsure.

“Took you long enough,” Loki says with a scowl. “I removed the spellwork hours ago so that Heimdall would see me and report back to you.”

“I could not get away until now.” Thor stops a few feet away from him, his eyebrows drawn together. “Are you well—” he pauses, and then adds, tentatively, “—brother?” 

Loki sighs. He does not have the energy to fight with Thor about his sentimentality. “I am many things, but well is not one of them. We must talk, Thor. I have kept secrets for too long, and it is time to prepare for war.”

Thor does not look even a little bit surprised. “You refer to the Infinity Stones.” 

Loki raises a brow and adds to the list of things he was not expecting to find come his return to Midgard. “I do. How have you come to know of them?”

“Much has happened since you left, brother.”

“So that would seem, considering not more than twelve hours ago, I came upon Tony Stark near death on the other side Midgard,” Loki says, unable to stop his voice from taking on a level of vitriol, and before Thor can reply, he adds, “He was left for dead by your very own Captain America, in a part of Midgard far away from civilization and sheathed in ice.”

Thor’s eyes widen, and Loki is secretly relieved to realize that he knows nothing of this. He is not sure what torment he would inflict on the Thunderer if he had. “What?”

“I know no details myself, only that this does not bode well, Thor, to have Midgard’s warriors split into factions with this threat looming.” 

“You mean because the Titan comes looking for the stones.”

Loki cocks his head to the side. “You know of him, as well.”

Thor nods. “I was gifted a vision from the Norns. How do you know of him?”

Loki grins, and his anger must show through it, because Thor winces. “I was thrust into his hands when I fell from the Bifrost, of course. How do you think I was gifted the scepter as well as an army? Speaking of, where is the scepter?”

Thor takes a seat across from Loki, and there is a strange expression on his face. “It is a… long story.”

“I have no commitments,” Loki says sardonically, so the Thunderer begins the tale. 

By the time he is done, Loki has learned about an unprecedented amount of chaos that has erupted on Midgard in his absence, some of which Pepper referred to in her emotional rant: the creation of Ultron, an artificial intelligence who absorbed the Tower ghost JARVIS; the enlistment of two enhanced Midgardians to fight against the Avengers; the subsequent death of said artificial intelligence; and finally, the birth of Vision, a synthesized being created by Ultron who now houses the Mind Stone. 

Loki pinches the bridge of his nose and grits his teeth. 

“All seemed settled when I returned to Asgard after Ultron was dispatched of,” Thor says grimly. “Tensions were high, after Stark and Banner erected Ultron, but I did not know relations had dissolved so much in my absence.”

“This is problematic, Thor, though I do not know why I expected more from the lot of you.” Loki sighs. “I still have the Tesseract, which houses the Space Stone, and I have eyes on the Power Stone as well as the Time Stone.”

Thor’s eyebrows raise high. “You have been busy, brother. I am glad to hear it. I know where the Reality Stone is stored, as well, as it was housed inside the Aether.”

Loki swallows down the questions that still swim around his head, from time to time, about Frigga and the events that lead to her death, but they must tackle more important things now. “Then we have the upper hand. Where is it?”

“With a powerful man called The Collector.”

Loki has heard of him, in his travels, but he— gods help him— will trust Thor. “Then we must locate the Mind Stone and assure it is safe.”

“It is safe with Vision,” Thor says without hesitation. “He could lift the hammer, Loki, with no hesitation.”

Loki blinks, his expression unimpressed. “You can lift the hammer with no hesitation, which means I most definitely require more assurances than that.” 

Thor laughs, a hearty, booming sound, and as it fades to silence, neither of them speak. Loki doesn’t remember the last time he sat in Thor’s company in some semblance of comfort, without jealousy and rage slowly eating away at him from the inside. He doesn’t remember the last time he heard Thor laugh like this, either.

He cannot help but think of their mother.

Thor breaks the silence. “There is a final stone. I know not where it is.”

“Nor do I.” Loki taps his fingers to his lips thoughtfully, “so we must assume it is more likely that the Titan will come across it before we do. If that is the case, we must protect the other stones.”

Thor nods. “It is good to see you, brother. I feared what might happen to you, the last time we met.”

“I do not forgive you for her death, but I cannot change it,” Loki says simply, ignoring Thor’s pained expression, and then, “You should go. Relay what you must to the Allfather and prepare.”

“And where will you go?”

“I will remain here with Stark.”

Thor gives him an imploring look. “He would not tell us the extent of your relations, only that you remained on Midgard for a noble purpose and offered protection and even friendship, it would seem. Many did not believe him, though it is not as if you gave them reason to.”

Loki snorts. “But you believed him.”

Thor stands, towering over Loki who remains in his seat, and nods solemnly. “I did.”

“You’ve always been a fool.”

“And yet,” Thor says with a smile, “I was correct.”

Loki rolls his eyes but cannot deny it. 

“Be well, brother. Call for me through Heimdall if you require my aid.”

Thor leaves the way he came, and when the skies have cleared, Loki leans his head back and closes his eyes. 

When he opens them again, the sun is high in the sky, and he is not alone. 

Tony sits across from him, bandaged and stitched and bruised, with the soft light of the reactor glowing strong beneath his shirt. He isn’t looking at Loki, just staring off with his eyebrows draw together. He looks older, which Loki did not notice before when facing the man’s mortality. His temples have greyed, and there are more fine lines creasing the corners of his eyes. He looks older, and he looks tired, and Loki does not like either look on Tony Stark. 

“Have a nice nap?” Tony says conversationally, still not looking at him. 

“How long have you watched me sleep?” Loki grouses, rolling his neck on his shoulders. 

“Just a little while. You were pretty knocked out, though. FRIDAY told me you had a visitor, too. Good family reunion?”

Tony is tense. It could be from his wounds, but Loki thinks not, with the way his words are clipped. “Will you not look at me, Stark?”

Tony turns his head towards him, and Loki immediately wishes he hadn’t. There is hurt in the depths of his dark eyes and in the tilt of his lips. 

“You are angry,” Loki murmurs.

“You weren’t here,” Tony says hotly and shakes his head, as if that will help him reign in the emotions that play across his features like a kaleidoscope. “So yeah, I’m angry.”

“I needed—” Loki begins, but Tony cuts him off.

“ _I_ needed you,” he snaps, even though Loki can tell it’s difficult for him to pull in a full breath due to his injuries. “I let you in, and I trusted you, and you bailed. You bailed, and you didn’t come back when I could’ve used a friend. You didn’t even send a note. An email. A carrier pigeon. Nothing. You were just gone. And don’t give me any bullshit about not being able to— you’ve got a fucking teleportation device in your pocket and magic bursting from your fingertips, so the excuse won’t really hold any weight.”

Loki bristles. “I am not your lady in waiting, Stark. I was not _bound_ to you.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Tony stands suddenly and grimaces. “You made this personal, okay? You came to me when you yourself said you didn’t need to, and you wormed your way into my life with cryptic bullshit and big plans and—” He looks away, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and seems to rethink whatever he was going to say. “I get if you need to be around for whatever the fuck cosmic thing is going to happen, and I appreciate that you saved me, but stay away from me from now on, okay? I can’t lose any more than I already have, Loki, and you’re too much of a wildcard.”

Loki stands, too, and with the flick of his wrist, and he retrieves the disc. Tony’s eyes find it, and they widen slightly.

“I kept it, you foolish mortal,” Loki sneers, the hurt he feels easily cloaked in anger. “I spoke to it, in realms far from here, on the very unlikely chance the ghost could hear. Do not stand there and tell me this is only personal for you. You are not the only one who has lost.” 

Tony continues to stare at it. “Why did you keep it, Loki?”

Loki doesn’t answer, not immediately. The urge to lie is strong, and the excuses sit on the tip of his tongue, already prepared and waiting. But there is something in Tony’s expression, a naked need being drawn to the surface by the appearance of the disc, so Loki merely says, “Because perhaps I, too, could have used a friend. I do not have many, Stark. Much in my life has not been worthy of loyalty.” 

The insinuation hangs there, and Tony grabs it. A smile quirks his lips, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You missed JARVIS, huh?” He pauses, and something fractures in his expression. “I miss JARVIS, too. No offense, FRIDAY, but, you know. First borns and all that.” 

“None taken, Boss,” the voice says gently. 

Loki steps around the table that stands between them until he is within touching distance. He holds out the disc, and Tony looks at his outstretched hand for a few moments before he reaches for it. Except he doesn’t take it. He cups the bottom of Loki’s hand with one of his own and curls his fingers back over the disc with the other.

“Keep it,” he says lowly, his voice thickened with emotion. “In case I need you.” 

Loki does not even realize he is doing it, until he is bent forward with his forehead resting against Tony’s. The man inhales sharply, but doesn’t pull away. He is warm, blazing like a furnace, and Loki doesn’t do it, but the desire to embrace him is there. It claws at the edges and attempts to break free, fueled by how much, in this moment, he realizes he missed this spectacular, stupid mortal. Loki shoves all of it down because it is too much; he cannot remember the last time he felt— 

“This is weird,” Tony says, breaking the heavy silence, and when Loki scoffs and starts to pull away, he grabs Loki’s upper arm to stop him from doing so. “I didn’t say you should stop.” 

“You are infuriating,” Loki mutters, but he doesn’t move. 

***

Some time later, when they have separated and retaken their seats, he learns, finally, what happened between the Avengers and why Iron Man was struck down and left to die by his own shield brother. Tony tells him the story with a straight face, in that same way he orated the story of nearly dying by the hands of Obadiah Stane those years ago, but Loki is the God of Lies, and he can see beyond the charade. The split of factions pains Tony on more than just a professional level. Something deep within him has fractured, along with the Avengers. Along with the shield. Loki knows the feeling well. It is a gaping wound inside of him that has only just begun to mend, years and years after it was carved into his very soul. 

Loki also knows, in that moment, that nothing will take him from Tony Stark’s side until this matter of the Mad Titan is finished. 

And after that, if they happen to make it through... he isn’t sure.


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments are all so lovely. Thank you for them - they mean a lot! (:

“Hey, Magical Barbie, can you hand me that wrench?”

“Do I look like your servant, Stark?”

“Oh, come on, you’re right there and you’re not even doing anything. You don’t even have to touch it! Just use your voodoo and send it over here.”

“I will send it straight into your skull,” Loki hisses, but he makes a motion with his hand, and the wrench on the worktable disappears in a halo of green only to appear next to Tony’s hand on the ground.

The man slides out from beneath his car to grin up at the god, who stares down at him with narrowed eyes. 

“Wipe the look from your face before I do it for you.”

Tony merely laughs and offers him a wink before he grabs the wrench and slides back beneath the machine.

This is how it has been, the last year and then some. Aside from an occasional trip throughout the galaxy to gather rumors about the Titan and other such trips around Midgard to attend lectures on Norse mythology (he enjoys the stories about himself, and he enjoys the ones about Thor even more), Loki spends many of his days in the workshop. He spellworks or reads magical texts pilfered from off-world libraries while Tony develops a budding friendship with a high-school boy who swings about the city in a red costume and calls himself Spider-Man even though he is most definitely not yet a man, or perfects his newest suit, or builds Colonel Rhodes yet another set of improved leg braces to aid in his walking. Occasionally they work together, to incorporate some magical resistance to the Iron Man suits, with incredibly chaotic results.

Tony Stark still works like he’s running out of time, and perhaps he is. Loki never considered what it meant to live a mortal-length life, but he is more keen to notice the slow encroachment of grey hairs littering Tony Stark’s beard these days. He finds he does not like them and their implications. 

There has been no word from the other Avengers, just the occasional visit from Thor. Tony is very bothered by the other Avengers' silence at first, even if he did not want to admit it, but Loki understands. He distinctly remembers the feeling of abandonment when neither Odin nor Thor made any attempt to find him once he’d fallen into the void. He knows they presumed him dead, but he is also aware that it was the easier conclusion for them to draw. Death meant finality, and finality is more attractive than what Loki could offer. 

Once and only once, in the early days of Tony’s recovery, Loki comments about wanting to tear Captain Rogers limb from limb. It’s said partially in jest, but the idea is shot down so vehemently that Loki doesn’t bring it up again, even though he doesn’t understand how Tony could wish anything well on the man who left him to die a cold, lonely death with his literal heart broken. 

It is only after the first time he catches Tony in the workshop with a glass of scotch in hand, staring at the shield that his robots pulled from storage on their master’s command, that Loki understands.

Iron Man’s literal heart had been repaired, but he is still heartbroken all the same. 

The instances do decrease in frequency over time, and eventually, Tony no longer looks at the shield. He also no longer flips open the very old-fashioned phone the Captain sent him in some strange, passive aggressive, self righteous power move. Loki curls his lips just thinking of it and how he knows Tony carries it around with him sometimes, even if he doesn’t look at the screen. 

Most importantly, though, Tony seems to find contentment, even if he is not content with the outcomes he is forced to bear.

Loki, on his part, does not remember the last time he felt so unencumbered. The looming threat of the Titan weighs on him, of course— it weighs on them all, in some way or another— and yet he does not feel it quite so heavily, here and now, with Tony to bide his time with. The mortal taps his foot to loud rock music while beneath his car, and occasionally he belts out poorly sung lyrics, and Loki watches on fondly and thinks that perhaps it would be all right, to spend the remainder of the time they have left this way. It is a strange companionship, brimming with commiseration and matched intellect and— 

Well, what could have been.

Loki tries not to think on the looks Tony once pinned him with in this very workshop. Despite their companionship, there is still a very faint underlying tension, as if they are both too hesitant to reignite what feels like an old and frivolous flame. Stolen glances and the occasional touch that lingers a moment too long, but never movement. Never true, unbridled intent. Loki could be content with this, though. With simply belonging and feeling wanted, even if a part of him still wants so much more from Tony Stark. 

And this measly intrusive thought, he is sure, is why it is at that moment an orange-ringed portal opens in the center of the room, and Dr. Stephen Strange walks through it. 

“Loki of Asgard,” he says with a nod of his head, looking exactly as Loki remembers him and still wearing the same red cloak that seems to move of its own accord. “It’s been a long time.”

Loki smirks and hops off of the worktable he’s been sitting on, pushing down the initial panic at seeing the sorcerer’s face. “And a different time, for you, at long last. Hello, Doctor.” 

“Uh,” Tony says, having rolled out from beneath his car. He stares up at the two of them with a puzzled expression. “I’m sorry, did you say Doctor? Are you a Time Lord?”

Loki snorts before he can stop himself, because he had enjoyed that show immensely, and Strange just rolls his eyes, but not before giving Loki a look he cannot place. 

“No. I’m Doctor Stephen Strange, and I’m going to need you both to come with me.” 

Tony stands, wiping his hands on his pants. There’s a tension to his form, a reflex that’s preparing him to spring into action at the first sign of trouble. “I mean, can this wait? Did you make an appointment? Consulting hours are from 8 to 5 every other Thursday.”

“Listen, Mr. Stark,” Strange says, and oh, he is so annoyed already, “it’s not overselling to say that the fate of the universe is at stake.” 

Tony glances at Loki. “It’s time, huh?”

Loki smiles, and he knows there must be some sadness showing because of the way Tony’s expression softens. 

“Yes, I do believe it is.” 

***

Loki remembers the smell of the Sanctum Sanctorum even if he did not know the name or the location at the time. Power and knowledge and purpose. He glances around as the portal closes behind them, admiring the stained glass and ancient relics. His magic feels alight here. 

“This looks like somewhere I’d expect you to live,” Tony mutters to Loki, their shoulders pressed together. 

Loki shrugs, though he relishes the contact. 

“Hey, Tony.”

Tony’s entire body goes tense like a cord, and slowly he turns. Standing next to Strange is none other than Bruce Banner, dressed casually in a t-shirt and jeans with his dark mess of curls in slight disarray. Tony opens his mouth once, twice, and then he and Banner meet in the middle and embrace. Tony’s hands fist in the other man’s shirt, knuckles whitening. 

By his account, Tony has not seen Banner since he disappeared on a jet once Ultron had been taken care of, which would put their time apart at about two years. Loki envies their reconnection. He does not think he’s ever had anyone grasp onto him so tightly. Even when he returned from his travels, and he and Tony only barely touched, as if the other was made of glass and could shatter at any moment. He wants this sure, grounding contact.

The fate of the universe is at stake, and still, he wants. 

“Where the hell have you been?” Tony demands, squeezing Banner once more before taking a step back, his hands remaining on the other man’s shoulders. “I looked everywhere for you.”

And there, Loki thinks, is the difference between Tony Stark and the others. _All_ others. He is not lying or even over-exaggerating when he says he looked everywhere possible that the Iron Man suit could take him. He was still looking, upon Loki’s return, and he even asked the god to do some reconnaissance on other planets, which was unfruitful. 

“I…” Banner dips his head down. “I’ve been around. Here, for a bit. I needed time away, after what happened in Johannesburg. I just… I really need a break. I was afraid of what would happen if I didn’t step back.”

Loki can see meaning behind the expression on Tony’s face: _I needed you and you weren’t there_. It’s the same that he directed at Loki, upon his release from the hospital after Siberia. Tony swallows it down, though, and Loki feels a warmth in his chest bloom out until the corners of his lips curl upward. 

There is no other like him, not in all the realms. Loki is sure of it.

“Oh my god, is that Loki?” Banner suddenly exclaims, taking several steps back, eyes wide. 

Loki raises a brow and smiles tightly. Tony just turns, taking a few steps towards the god, and claps Loki on the back. “Oh, this old thing? Yes, it’s an Asgardian vintage.”

Banner just stares.

“Somehow, I don’t think that explanation is helpful,” Strange says dryly. “Dr. Banner, Loki is here as an ally. He has been helping prepare for the upcoming threat since his escape just after the Invasion of New York.”

Loki offers a little bow, which makes Tony bark out a laugh. “Dr. Banner.” 

Banner glances between the three of them. “Seriously?” 

Tony smiles easily, almost fondly. “Yeah, don’t worry. He’s one of the good ones now. Promise.” 

Banner scrubs a hand over his face. “I hope you’re right, Tony.”

“I’m always right. Like, 12% of the time. He’s in that 12%.” Tony turns his attention too Strange. “So, let’s hear it.”

Strange steps aside and Wong, another sorcerer who had been standing by, steps forward. He uses magic similar to Tony’s holoscreens to create the universe and says, “From the dawn of time, there was nothing. Then, boom!”

Most of the information provided, Loki already knows, and by extent, Tony. Infinity Stones, the Mad Titan, significant destruction of life. However, they both listen silently while Banner paces behind Strange, his hands clasped behind his back. 

“How did you find out about all of this?” Tony asks when Wong is done. 

“The first kernel came from Thor Odinson, actually,” Strange says, and only offers a very quick glance to Loki to gauge his reaction. Loki makes a point to remain as stoic as possible. “He was sent to me by his gatekeeper. Thanos showed up to Asgard searching for the Aether— the Reality Stone. He thought it was still there. Thor came here to deliver the news, but then he was forced back to Asgard.”

“And what of Asgard?” Loki asks, his calm demeanor betrayed by the sharpness of his voice. 

Banner stops pacing and turns to watch him, obviously on edge. Waiting. 

“Damaged and not without casualties, but still standing,” Strange confirms. “Odin still lives.” 

Loki grits his teeth against the onslaught of conflicting emotions that brings. “And the Reality Stone?”

Strange’s expression shutters, and Loki closes his eyes for just a moment, anxiety thrumming through him like a ripple in a pond, before he asks, “Who told him of its location?” 

“Thor didn’t say,” Strange says. “But he’s on his way here, Loki. There are three stones on Earth right now, and Thor said Thanos already had the Power Stone as well as the Soul Stone. I assume he has the Reality Stone by now, or he will soon.”

“And you brought me here, you fool,” Loki snaps. “We are sitting ducks—”

“Wait a minute,” Tony interjects, holding up a hand to silence Loki. “If he needs all six to complete this mission of his, why don’t we just stick one down the garbage disposal. You have one, and Lokes as another one. Take your pick. Or better yet, destroy them both.”

“No can do,” Strange says just as Wong exclaims, “We swore an oath to protect the Time Stone. With our lives.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “And I swore off dairy, but then, Ben & Jerry's named a flavor after me, so…”

Strange sighs. “ _Stark Raving Hazelnuts_.”

Tony grins. “It's not bad.”

“A bit _chalky_ ,” Strange mutters. 

“ _A Hunka-Hulka Burning Fudge_ is our favorite,” Wong adds.

Banner stands there, looking positively overwhelmed. “That's a thing?”

Tony smirks. “Whatever. Point is: things change.”

Strange shakes his head. “Our oath to protect the Time Stone cannot change. This Stone may be the best chance we have against Thanos.”

“And still conversely, it may also be his best chance against us.”

“Well, if we don't do our jobs.”

Tony tilts his head to the side, and Loki knows that look. 

“What is your job exactly, besides making balloon animals?”

Strange remains completely calm, but says, “Protecting your reality, douchebag.”

“ _Enough_!” Loki sneers, and they all stop speaking to look at him, eyebrows raised. He can feel his magic licking around him, but he doesn’t care. They don’t have time for this. “The Titan comes, and you all stand here bickering like children.”

“We could destroy the Space Stone,” Wong says thoughtfully.

“We will need it to escape if you mortal idiots cannot come up with a successful plan.” 

“Loki is right. If he’s as powerful as you say, we’ll need an escape hatch, and that’s it.” Tony rubs a hand over his face. “First thing’s first. We need to find Vision. I’ve been keeping some tabs on him, but he went offline a few weeks ago.”

“Okay, so who can find Vision, then?” Banner asks.

Loki turns to Tony and sees the sudden but visceral pain that contorts his expression, and he wishes he could do something to stop what happens, or at least dull the pain, but he cannot. Not now. Too much is at stake.

Tony closes his eyes briefly, and then: “Steve Rogers probably can.”

There is no other man like Tony Stark. 

And Banner, who has been missing all this time, hiding away like an ostrich with his head in the sand, doesn’t seem to notice Tony’s discomfort or the tension suddenly filling the room and says, “So call him.”

Tony smiles tightly. “It's not that easy. God, we haven't caught up in a spell, have we? The Avengers broke up, Bruce. We're toast.”

Banner blinks owlishly, and Loki wants nothing more than to throw him into the wall. “Broke up? Like a band? Like The Beatles?”

“Cap and I fell out hard. We're not on speaking terms.”

“ _Fell out hard,_ ” Loki scoffs. “He tried to _kill_ you.”

Tony’s nostrils flare but he says nothing. Banner looks between the two of them, his eyes widening slightly, but then he takes a few steps to close the distance between him and Tony and puts his hands on the other man’s shoulders, mimicking their stance from only a short while ago. “Tony, listen to me. Thor's gone for now. Thanos is coming. It doesn't matter who you're talking to or not, or why. It can matter later, but not right now.”

The sigh Tony emits is one of loss, one that encapsulates how he must give up more despite all he has done, and Loki aches for him in a way he has not ached in a long time. He realizes then that Strange, who glances between the two of them with his infuriatingly calm demeanor, was more cunning than he gave the man credit for. He combed Loki’s timeline, or so he said at their first meeting years prior, and he had seen everything that had transpired in Loki’s past. All of the betrayal and loss and yearning, the same that was mirrored in Tony Stark. This feeling, this void in his chest that wants, it was all inevitable, and the Sorcerer must have known it. Why else would he throw their paths together? 

Loki isn’t sure if he is grateful or if he wants to rip the man’s head from his body. 

Tony takes a few steps away and pulls out the phone — carrying it, even now. He flips it open and stares at it for several long seconds, and he is about to press a button when the Sanctum shakes. 

They all glance around, and Loki and Strange make eye contact because they can both sense the sudden surge of nearby power, before the screaming outside begins. Tony doesn’t hesitate and immediately strides forward and throws the front doors open. The street is chaos. A strong wind blows, sending debris everywhere, and people run screaming from the source. Tony puts on his glasses. “FRIDAY, what am I looking at?”

Loki does not hear FRIDAY’s reply, but he already knows. The Titan is here. 

Strange and Wong raise their arms and glowing bands of orange energy manifest. Loki clenches his fists, his seidr rising, and as they turn the corner, the hum penetrating the air grows louder until Loki can feel it in the soles of his feet. After dodging a piece of flying metal, Tony moves into the middle of the street and stops dead, his mouth slightly open, and stares up. 

The ring-shaped ship that floats above the street is positively massive.

Strange makes a motion with his hands and then pushes them forward, causing a strong magical current to force the dust and debris back towards the ship. The winds settle, just in time for a blue light to shine down and port a very a large beast of a creature holding a large, hammer-like weapon and a very slim being with a gaunt, flat face. Loki does not know them personally, but he knows the tales of the Black Order, and he can guess who they are. Cull Obsidian, the most bloodthirsty of Thanos’ children, and Ebony Maw, his right hand. 

“Hear me, and rejoice,” Ebony Maw says. “You are about to die at the hands of the Children of Thanos. Be thankful that your meaningless lives are now contributing to…”

And Tony, ever unable to keep his damned mouth shut when it matters the most, takes a step forward and interjects, “I’m sorry, Voldemort, but Earth is closed today. You better pack it up and get out of here.”

The Ebony Maw’s face tightens and he says, “Stonekeeper and…” His eyes widen a fraction. “If it is not Loki Odinson. How quaint, to find you here. Fated, perhaps, as it would seem you carry a stone, as well. Tell me, fallen Princeling, does this chattering animal speak for you?”

“Chattering animal?” Tony repeats, offended, but Loki grabs his arm and yanks him back even as Strange steps forward.

“You are not suited, you idiot,” Loki seethes into Tony’s ear. 

“Details,” Tony says back good-naturedly, but there’s a tightness to the words. 

“I speak for myself,” Loki calls out as he pushes Tony behind him, who huffs but doesn’t fight him. He draws in his seidr, and his leathers transform into armor, the weight of it on his body surprisingly soothing. 

“As do I,” Strange adds, moving to stand beside Loki as he taps his wrists together, forming circular magic shields along his knuckles. On the other side of him, Wong does the same. “But you’re trespassing in this city and on this planet.”

“It means get lost, Squidward,” Tony yells.

Loki and Strange both sigh.

“He exhausts me,” Ebony maw says disdainfully, to which Cull Obsidian grunts. “Bring me the stones.”

As Cull Obsidian approaches, dragging his hammer on the ground, Tony elbows Banner. “You want a piece?”

“No.” Banner grimaces. “I don’t mean it that way, like I wouldn’t help if I could. But I can’t. Or the Hulk won’t? It’s complicated. We’ve been having… issues.”

“Issues?” Tony turns towards him fully. “What do you mean issues? For how long?”

“Since Ultron,” Banner says, almost sheepishly. 

“There is no time for this squabble,” Loki snaps. “Banner, if you cannot help, remove yourself from the situation.”

“He’s right,” Strange says, and then Wong opens a portal beneath Banner, who disappears into it with a shout. 

“I hope you didn’t drop him into the desert or something.” Tony taps his arc reactor and starts to walk forward, removing his sunglasses as he goes. “I really dislike the desert.”

Strange reaches out to pull him back, but Loki puts a hand up to stop Strange. He watches, still awed though he’s seen it before, as the nanotech begins to coat Tony like a second skin, seamlessly piecing together in rivets of silver that transform until he is coated in gleaming red and gold. He and Cull Obsidian, who has picked up speed, meet and the brute raises the hammer to strike down. Iron Man populates a shield to block the attack and then swings back upwards, his gauntlet connecting with the beast’s face and sending him back several paces.

“Do not underestimate him,” Loki says, unable to stop his smile.

Strange just smirks.

They turn their attention back to Tony. Around him, several arches form via the nanotech, and they hum as they power up before the energy is fed into the unibeam, which fires. Cull Obsidian is thrown back to the Maw, who, with a look of disgust, waves a hand and sends his comrade flying straight into a car. 

Everything happens quickly. Earth spikes up under Iron Man, sending him flying into the air as large trees are uprooted and thrown in their direction. Loki feels a momentary spike in his heart rate but reminds himself that Tony Stark is more than capable of taking care of himself, most of the time, and then feeds his seidr into the shield Wong creates to protect them from the projectiles. Strange draws energy to his hands as large car comings careening towards them and blasts the automobile back at Ebony Maw, who merely slices it in half with a flick of his hand before it hits him.

Iron Man returns and lands next to them. “Hey, Dungeons and Dragons, we gotta get those stones out of here.”

“The Stone stays with me,” Strange says hotly, and though Loki can’t see Tony’s face, he can tell the man rolls his eyes.

“Fine then.” He flies straight at the Maw, who sends large trails of concrete at him that Iron Man is able to easily dodge.

What he cannot dodge, however, is the hammer that Cull Obsidian launches at him. The head hits Iron Man in the chest and sends him flying through a building and beyond, and Cull Obsidian follows. Loki considers going after him, but then Ebony Maw begins to float towards them, palms facing upwards. Bricks surround him like an asteroid field. Bricks which sharpen before their eyes into stakes. He sends them towards the trio, but Strange and Wong have already opened portals so that the staves fly back at their master. The Maw is able to deflect most of them, but one hits him in the head and he snarls, sending water from a broken hydrant at Wong, who flies backwards, hits his head on the cement, and stays down. 

“Now it is just us,” Ebony Maw says, “and I would like those Stones. One is in plain sight, but the other you are hiding, Princeling. Where is it?”

“I think not,” Loki says, a green aura igniting around him. 

He produces daggers and throws. The Maw deflects them, but it distracts him from the rope of energy Strange snaps forward to bind his hands. He flies forward and straight into Strange, pinning him to the wall and using rocks and brick to keep him there. With one hand he sends metal rods in Loki’s direction as he dashes forward, and with the other, he reaches for the Eye of Agamotto. 

He rears back as the pendant burns his hand, and Strange offers him a smug smile. “It’s a simple spell, but it is quite unbreakable.”

“Then I’ll take it off your corpse,” Maw seethes before he is thrown off of Strange by a blast of green energy.

Loki uses his magic to crumble the bricks holding Strange down, then reaches for and grabs his hand to haul him up. He’s barely steady on his feet but moves to open the pendant anyway. The glowing green gem is exposed, but before he can use it, metal cables strike upwards and snare them both, wrapping around them like snakes until Loki can feel his ribs creak in protest. The Eye of Agamotto closes. 

“You’ll find removing a dead man’s spell… problematic,” Strange gasps as the Ebony Maw floats towards them, his face a grim mask. 

“Ask your companion here,” he replies, gesturing towards Loki. “He will be able to confirm that by the time we are done with you, you’ll wish you were dead.” 

The cables tighten even more, slithering around their throats, and the lack of oxygen makes Loki’s vision begin to darken at the edges even as panic takes hold. He _knows_ this feeling. He knows it too intimately, being wrapped up in the cold embrace of void magic, near dead and at the mercy of hands that are not merciful. He tries to struggle, but the more he does, the more he is constricted. 

He thinks he hears his name called, screamed, before he blacks out completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate writing fight scenes so I apologize if the flow felt very stiff. (ーー;)


	8. Eight

Loki wakes suspended in midair, hair sticking to his temples, and with thin, sharpened crystals pointed at his being, a few of them incredibly close to his face. That, and pain. His entire body aches as if every fiber of muscle has been bruised. He tries to move and finds that he cannot, except for a slight turn of his head. 

Strange is in a similar bind—literally— except that Ebony Maw stands in front of him. 

“In all the time I’ve served Thanos, I’ve never failed him,” he says calmly. “If I were to reach our rendezvous on Titan with the Time Stone still attached to your vaguely irritating person, there would be… judgement.” 

Maw raises a hand and the glass needles around him move forward at a teasingly slow pace until one pierces Strange’s cheek. He hisses out a breath and grunts, and the needle causes the skin around it to glow a painful white, the light undulating beneath. 

“Give me,” Maw hisses, “the Stone.”

As the needles inch towards the pendant, a fiery sigil appears, and when it repels them, Maw sneers and more staves pierce Strange’s face until most of his skin glows. Strange cries out, eyes wide and body vibrating despite its rigidity. 

“How pitiful,” Loki spits, even though the very act of talking makes his chest ache. “You cannot even break a Midgardian sorcerer’s spell, nor his spirit. How will Thanos react, I wonder, to your spectacular failure?”

“Oh, you will see how he responds to failure, Princeling,” Ebony Maw says, a certain amount of glee creeping into his otherwise monotonous tone, and turns to face at Loki.

The needles abate, leaving Strange gasping for breath.

“Perhaps I should extract the Space Stone from you first and show your Midgardian sorcerer what it looks like to break a god.” 

The needles around Loki’s body, which have remained relatively stationary until now, strike forward with a wave of the Maw’s hand. Loki snarls but bites back a scream as they penetrate his skin. The sudden, excruciating pain is so striking that he cannot tell if the energy is boiling hot or icy cold, only that it spreads through his face and skull and down his neck in seconds, until his nerves scream even though he does not. He has felt soul-scorching pain like this before when the Other tugged on the magic hooked into his mind, but not to this extent. 

Loki has never felt pain like this. 

Maw offers a bland smile. “Spectacular, aren’t they?”

Before he can continue, there’s a thud. Maw turns around and Loki, his entire body quivering, drags his gaze towards the sound. There, across the ship, stands Iron Man, palms out and repulsers glowing a pale, icy blue. A breath Loki didn’t realize he was holding shudders out of him, and he would laugh if any part of him was capable of it right now. 

“I could kill your friends in an instant,” Maw sneers. 

“Well, the goth-looking one is my ward, actually, and the wizard’s not really my friend. More of an acquaintance. Saving him is a professional courtesy, you know how that goes.” 

“You’ve saved nothing.” Ebony Maw raises his hands, and around him large pieces of metal rise, floating precariously in the air. “Your powers are inconsequential compared to mine.”

“Yeah, well, the kid’s seen more movies.” 

Iron Man pivots and fires. There’s a bang, and then a hole blooms in the hull of the ship. Maw and his metal objects are ripped from their purchase and sucked towards it by the vacuum created. 

And so are Loki, Strange, and the glass needles. 

Loki sees a flash of red, and then he’s enveloped in a firm embrace, his aching cheek pressed to cool metal and his hair curtaining his face. He hears yelling, a voice he doesn’t recognize, but he can barely focus on it or the words. 

“I got you,” Tony murmurs, his hold tightening, and then there’s a spraying sound, like icy wind, before silence echos through the ship.

Tony holds him far longer than is necessary, but Loki doesn’t fight him. When he finally sets Loki on his feet, he still keeps hands firmly planted on the god’s shoulders, his faceplate gone so that he can study Loki’s face. Eventually, he takes a step back and drags a still shaking hand through his hair so he can comb it out of his face. The nanotech melt from Tony’s body, until he’s left in his jeans and shirt. 

“You all right?” Tony asks quietly, bringing a hand to his cheek briefly.

Loki nods once, a jerky movement, and he’s lying— they both know he’s lying— but they ignore it, and he takes a deep breath and looks around. Behind Tony, Strange is readjusting his cloak, his face pale but his mouth set in a grim line, and next to him is a young man in a red suit who blinks owlishly at him.

“Uh, hi. I don’t think we’ve officially met,” he says, glancing between Loki and Strange. “I’m Peter.”

“I am Doctor Stephen Strange,” Strange says, just as Loki replies, “I am Loki, of Asgard.”

Peter offers a hesitant smile. “Oh, we’re using our made up names. I’m Spider-Man.”

Both sorcerers just a raise a brow at him. 

“Well,” Tony says conversationally, “now that we’re all here and introduced, in space, on this flying doughnut, we should—”

“We should turn this ship around,” Strange interrupts.

Tony shakes his head. “No can do, Merlin. The ship is self-correcting its course, from what I can tell. It’s on autopilot.”

Strange sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Can you turn it around? Fly us home?” 

Something in Tony’s expression shutters, and he turns towards the front of the ship, staring off into the bright, fluttery blue light that reminds Loki of the ocean in Malibu. He very suddenly longs for the simplicity of his life for those few months when he walked the beach at sunset, as carefree as he’d ever been. 

“Stark?”

“Yeah, I heard you,” Tony replies tersely. “Even if I could, I just don’t think we should.” When Strange starts to interrupt, he continues, “Just hear me out, okay? I know we don’t want to give him the Stones, and we’ve got two of them here, but I’ve had Thanos in my head ever since my favorite God of Chaos brought an army through a wormhole six years ago. And now he’s back. We’ve seen what he can do. I don’t know if it’s better to bring the fight back to Earth, knowing that, or to bring it to his home turf. At least he’s not expecting it and we have some kind of upper hand.”

Strange stares at Tony, jaw working, and Loki can see the multi-faceted parts of him at war. He still isn’t sure what version of Strange he met years ago, and he’s never thought about how it must effect Strange to have his present instincts screaming at him to do one thing when knowledge of this timeline burns a hole in his skull. Loki doesn’t envy the man. 

“Okay,” he finally says. “Okay, Stark, we take the fight to him, but you have to understand. He cannot have the Stones.”

“It’s not like I’m going to gift wrap them and hand them over for Christmas. Hell, if you’re put in a position between protecting the stone and one of us, pick the stone. No hard feelings.” He pats Strange on the shoulder and then walks past him to where Loki and the young man stand. “Hey, Lokes, remember that time I jokingly asked you to join the Avengers Initiative? Well, desperate times call for desperate measures. You and Parker here just became honorary Avengers.”

“We’re truly in the darkest timeline,” Loki mutters good-humoredly, and Tony actually smiles, albeit tiredly, and offers him a wink before turning back towards the front of the ship.

***

Peter Parker explores the ship, swinging from rafter to rafter while talking excitedly to himself about everything he finds. He is smart and agile, and he exhibits the same type of manic energy Loki has seen in Tony. It makes sense that he had chosen this young man to mentor, though he can tell between their few interactions that Peter Parker had come along against Tony’s wishes. That he should still be on Midgard and marginally safe.

Tony paces, eyebrows drawn low on his forehead. Loki watches him, wishes to go to him, but he senses the man needs some time to process. They had all been expecting something like this, and yet…

After a brief look about the ship, Strange settles down to meditate. He sits in front of the large wash of undulating blue that is dotted with what looks like stars, legs folded and hands positioned just above his knees. The expressions on his face alternate between inquisitive and pained, his head twitching this way and that, and on his breast, the Eye of Agamotto has opened. The stone, embedded there amidst woven gold, glows a bright emerald green. 

Loki assumes he is traveling the timeline to see what outcomes are likely now under these specific set of circumstances. He likely won’t be able to share the information with them, which is frustrating, but what can they do but follow whatever path is laid before them and hope it is one of the right ones? They are coming upon the endgame. Loki can feel it in his very bones, and for the first time in a long while, he is afraid of what he will lose. 

He glances at Tony again and finds the mortal is already watching him with the particular expression of contemplative consideration he only ever looks at Loki with, as if he is trying to take the god apart like one of his machines to see his innermost workings. Little does he know, Loki would bare it all for him, if he asked. Longs for him to ask. 

They maintain eye contact for several seconds before Tony walks over slowly and leans against the wall next to him. He impressively ignores Strange, who looks like he’s having some kind of neurological episode, and instead angles himself towards Loki.

“Ready to play the hero?” he asks conversationally.

Loki laughs softly. “I am not, but for you, I must.”

Tony doesn’t say anything at first, and Loki allows the silence to carry. It’s not uncomfortable, but it still hangs between them with a tension that threatens to snap.

Tony clears his throat. “For me, huh?” 

“I gave up the charade of indifference towards you a long time ago, Stark,” Loki admits quietly and with a sigh. If not now, he may not have the chance or the inclination to say it. “I could not have maintained it if I tried. You are clever and cunning, so it was easy for you to slink in past my defenses. Even if it hadn’t been easy, this was inevitable.” 

Tony emits an exasperated sigh. “Stop speaking poetry and tell me outright what you mean for once.” 

Tony has turned towards him fully, so Loki does the same. The mortal stares up at him, confusion and a little bit of annoyance written all over his face. 

“The Aesir believe very strongly in fate. That an elaborate tapestry exists, already outlining the paths we will take and those we will not. Do you believe in fate, Stark?”

“I believe we make our own,” Tony answers immediately and without hesitation. 

“I believe,” Loki murmurs, taking a step towards him, “that you may be mine.” 

Tony’s eyes widen a fraction, his lips parted in surprise. “Loki—”

The moment is shattered by Strange, who unfolds from his position with a shuddering groan. The Eye closes and he grips at the grated floor beneath him, his face pale and his chest heaving. 

“Nice party trick, Doc,” Tony says, and he has to tear his gaze from Loki. “You alright?”

“I went forward in time to view the possible outcomes,” he replies shakily. 

“How many did you view?” 

“Fourteen-million and sixty-five.”

Tony’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wow, okay. Someone’s an over-achiever. How many did we win?”

Strange stares up at them grimly, and Loki catches the tell of a man considering a lie. Something shifts after a moment, though, and Loki gets the feeling Strange, as powerful as he is, knows that he cannot handle the emotional implications of being the only one to know how incredibly terrible their odds are. “One.”

“Well, shit,” Tony says and then scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m gonna… go catch up with the kid, before we get this spectacularly doomed party started. He should know what we’re getting into.”

He gives Loki a look then, one that says _this conversation isn’t over_ , but he still walks away. Loki takes a moment to breathe so his thumping heart can slow its pace, to dash away the heavy disappointment in not receiving a reply to a confession it took him a considerable amount of willpower to admit, before he crouches down in front of Strange, who’s still hunched over on the ground. The sorcerer looks despondent. 

“I believe when we met, those years ago, the likelihood of survival was prevalent in many more possibilities,” Loki says conversationally.

Strange raises his head and levels Loki with a glare. “Yes, well, a lot’s changed since then, hasn’t it?”

“I suppose you’re right. You will not tell me, will you? The events that occur in the future where we win.”

“I can’t, you know that.”

Loki sighs and holds out a hand. Strange eyes it for a moment and then grabs on, allowing Loki to help him to his feet. “I hope your silence lends itself to our grim odds in the way that you hope, Doctor.”

“Me, too,” Strange says. 

***

Loki is unsure how much more time passes, but Tony avoids him during all of it. He doesn’t blame the man, even though he knows that he is not alone in these sentiments. Something shifted ever so slightly before his impromptu travels, and they’d still been tiptoeing around it since his return. Now is not the right time, however, not when they all chance losing so much, but Loki realizes it may never be the right time, but this may be the only time. He isn’t sure how he feels about it, but what can he do besides wait and see how things will play out? 

Soon, the soft blue screen comes into focus and showcases craters, the destroyed remnants of a civilization, and strange landscape. The four of them crowd around it, and Loki studies it with an acute sense of dread.

“I don’t think this rig has a self-park function, so help me out, kid.” 

Tony is already moving and tinkering, and before either Strange or Loki can recommend any course of action, he and Peter Parker each have a hand in a steering gimbal. Tony talks the young man through moving together as one to promote the safest landing, his nanotech sliding over his form until he’s fully suited.

It is… not an easy landing.

“I think we need to turn!” Parker yells, his helmet coming up to cover his head, as they crash through the desiccated hull of a building. 

Loki grabs onto the nearest railing but has the forethought to send magic to steady Tony and Parker, who are both struggling to remain upright as the ship careens with their arms still locked into the gimbals. Strange stands between them and raises his arms, tapping his wrists together so a spherical shield spreads out until it encompasses all of them. 

The sound of metal tearing groans loudly, echoing around them like a roaring beast, and then the ship quakes as large pieces of it are ripped away by the structures they barrel through. What remains intact hits land and skids forward, jolting them this way and that. Loki grits his teeth and throws magic towards the gimbals, allowing the latches on both to release before Tony or Parker break an arm, but he doesn’t see what happens to them because the ship hits something that throws him forward before it finally, blessedly, comes to a halt.

Loki combs his hair away from his face and climbs to his feet. Around them, parts of the ship are sparking, and the large screen flickers a few times before going black. Strange helps Tony to stand.

“That was close. I owe you one,” Tony grunts. 

Peter Parker suddenly appears, hanging upside down from the ship’s ceiling by a literal thread. “Let me just say, if aliens wind up implanting eggs in my chest or something, and I eat one of you, I'm sorry.”

“No more pop culture references!” Tony exclaims.

Loki snorts as he approaches them. “So hypocritical.” 

“No one asked you, Maleficient.” 

“I’m just trying to say that something’s coming!” Parker hurriedly explains. 

Just then, a small metal sphere rolls between them and explodes.

They’re all thrown backwards, and Loki hits the same wall he’d hit when they’d landed with a grunt. Snarling, he stands, his magic flaring and daggers already in his hand, when he looks up and sees figures entering the ship via a tear in the hull, one of whose eyes glow red. When they pass the smoke, Loki recognizes the Midgardian, a very small version of the _Flora colossus_ , and the small beast from Xandar standing in the doorway along with another large man covered in linear markings that Loki recognizes from his brief haunting of the prison. An insect-like woman peeks in from behind them, mostly blocked by the ship’s hull.

“Wait!” Loki snaps as everyone starts shooting, but it’s too late. Strange has his shield up, which deflects a thrown weapon, and his cloak flies off to wrap around the man covered in markings. Tony is already in the air, shooting his repulsers at the Midgardian, who shoots back, and Parker is doing his best to wrap the _Flora colossus_ and the small beast in webbing. 

“I said enough!” Loki roars, and then there are several of him around the ship, all of them holding staffs and banging them against the flooring so that the metal against metal clang rings out shrilly. 

It does the trick. They all stop to stare at him, except for the man currently being suffocated by Strange’s cloak—he continues to fight with the fabric, muttering random insults and declarations, and occasionally laughing as if he is having the time of his life. 

“Where is Gamora?” Loki snarls, waving a hand so his doppelgängers disappear. 

“Who is Gamora?” Tony asks from where he floats in the air, his faceplate still down. 

“I’ll do you one better,” the bald man replies when the cloak finally pulls away from his head and flies back around Strange’s shoulders. He slowly climbs to his feet, blades in both hands. “Why is Gamora?”

“How do you know Gamora?” the Midgardian demands as he taps a button on the side of his face, which causes his helmet to flicker and fade, revealing narrowed eyes and a scowl. “And do you know where she is?”

“He just asked you if _you_ know where she is, idiot,” the small beast says, rolling his eyes. He readjusts his hold on his exceptionally large gun and turns back towards the god, head tilted. “Who are you guys?”

“I am Loki of Asgard, and Gamora and I met during your idiotic stunt on Xandar that resulted in your possession of the Power Stone.”

The small beast takes a moment to think but then flashes a toothy grin and says, “Ooooh, right. That was a clusterfuck, wasn’t it?” at the same time as the Midgardian points his weapon at Loki. 

“Tell me where she is, or I’ll kill all of you and beat it out of Thanos myself.”

“Here we go,” the small beast mutters, rolling his eyes. 

Strange’s shield flares, bringing the man’s attention to him. “What master do you serve?”

“What master do I serve?” the Midgardian repeats incredulously. “What do you want me to say, Jesus?”

“Wait, you’re from Earth,” Tony says, and his faceplate finally pulls up, exposing a very confused expression. 

“I’m not from Earth, I’m from Missouri.” 

Tony slowly descends until his boots hit the ship’s floor. His confused expression has morphed into something with more vitriol, signaling the end of his patience, which never leads to good things. “Yeah, that’s on Earth, dipshit.”

“Enough!” Loki snarls again, and Tony offers him an apologetic smile. 

Strange steps forward, his very presence demanding attention. “Listen, it seems like we’re here for the same reason. We want to stop Thanos. He needs to be stopped. It makes sense for us to join together for a common cause instead of bicker like children.”

“Fine,” The Midgardian replies with a huff. “I was going to say that anyway.” 

Tony opens his mouth to reply, but immediately closes it when Loki stares daggers in his direction. 

“Then it’s settled,” Strange says. “We might as well start with introductions.”

“I wanna know what you want for the suit,” the small beast says to Tony, who snorts.

It is tedious, but by the end of it, Loki at least knows what he’s working with. He thinks the insect-like empath and the very snarky but obviously intelligent little beast known as Rocket will be the most helpful, but more muscle to aid in distraction and restraint are bound to be needed where the Titan is concerned. He isn’t sure what they’ll do with the Flora colossus, but four out of five isn’t bad, considering their odds. 

They take time to coordinate a plan, and then they disperse to prepare, already in dire need of space from each other. When Loki approaches him, Tony is staring off into the distance at the time and war-tattered structures that litter the dusty, desolate landscape. He turns to Loki with a barely-there smile before shifting his gaze back to the valley. They stand there in comfortable silence for a while, and of course, it is Tony who eventually breaks it as he rocks back on his heels. 

“Last chance to back out.”

Loki smirks. “I think perhaps that chance was wasted when I was boarded onto an enemy spacecraft.” 

“I dunno. You do have the Tesseract. You could leave. Find a nice beach somewhere. Get a tan. You’re pretty pale.”

Loki rolls his eyes. “If I run, I will always be running, and gods can live a long time, under certain circumstances. I would rather settle this business with the Titan and be free of it.”

Tony hums thoughtfully and then asks, “What will you do after, if we win?”

Loki chooses his words carefully. “I haven’t yet considered.”

“You’re an Avenger now, Jolly Blue Giant. Means the Earth officially has a vacancy for you.”

“I am no Avenger, Stark,” Loki says with a dark chuckle. “And even so, what am I to do on Midgard when all of this business is through?” 

It’s a leading question and they both know it. Loki all but declared his affections during their discussion on the spacecraft. He could push it further and drag an answer from Tony, but he doesn’t want that. He’s forced and been forced so much in his life that he has no desire to attain this by more nefarious ploys. He isn’t even sure what _this_ is. All he knows is that he wants to take hold of it and never let go, and that in and of itself is terrifying and quite a dangerous weakness to have. 

“What you said earlier,” Tony finally says and then clears his throat. “About me— what I am to you. You meant it.”

Loki takes in a measured breath, and then on an exhale, he murmurs: “I did.”

“You never said anything before.”

“Neither did you.”

Tony scoffs. “I feel like I made my interest pretty obvious back in the day.”

Loki waves his words away, trying to also dislodge the hope threatening to suffocate him. “My sudden departure changed things, Stark. I am not so vain as to believe you would hold some torch for me after—”

“Stop, just stop,” Tony says, and then he’s standing in front of Loki. He grabs the lapels of the god’s leathers and pulls with enough force to bring Loki’s face towards his, just mere inches away. “Say it. I don’t want any of that Silvertongue bullshit— just say what you mean.”

Loki stares down at him for several moments before he brings a hand, slowly and tentatively, to Tony’s cheek, causing the mortal to inhale sharply through his nose. “You are infuriating, stubborn, and careless with your already short life. I sometimes still wonder if I would have been better off had I succeeded when I threw you out that window. And yet, I have not found another who has enraptured me as you have.”

Tony blinks up at him, his lips slightly parted, and allows the words to sink in. Loki can tell when they have, because the mortal waggles his eyebrows, his grip on Loki’s leathers tightening. “You coming on to me, Lokes?”

Loki dips down lower until their lips almost touch and their breath intermingles. The playful look on Tony’s face transforms into something else, something darker and hungrier. Loki’s voice is barley a whisper as he admits, “I would devour you, Stark. I would take all that you are and everything you were able to give. Are you prepared for that?”

Tony’s next breath comes out in a shudder, but he’s smiling in the way that lights up his dark eyes. “When do we start?”

Loki closes the minuscule distance between them. 

The kiss is gentle. Chaste, even, but it sends a trembling warmth throughout Loki’s entire body. Tony sighs against his mouth and steps forward to press the length of his body against the god’s, and it takes every ounce of self-control Loki possesses not to whisk them away to literally anywhere but here, safely tucked away by the magic of the Tesseract. 

Instead, he pulls back and puts some space between them, his entire body awash with heat. 

“We have poor timing, Stark,” Loki murmurs, dragging the pad of this thumb against Tony’s bottom lip. “I don’t know what will happen in the hours to come.”

Tony chases the finger, pressing a kiss to the tip, but his hold on Loki’s clothing loosens. His hands slide down the god’s chest and sides before he allows his arms to fall back to his sides. “Yeah, well, I’ve never done things by the book. Neither have you. Why start now?”

“That is true.” Loki lowers his hand, as well, though he allows his palm to ghost down the length of Tony’s arm. 

Tony, cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide, produces a very small piece of tech with a flourish. When Loki raises an eyebrow, he just grins and holds it out to him. “Ear piece. Put it in. We’re too far to have any access to FRIDAY, but you’ll be able to talk to me.”

“As you wish,” Loki says and complies, slotting it into his canal. He frown as he feels it move about, adjusting to the appropriate shape. “I could always craft a spell that allows you to hear my voice in your head.” 

“Let’s wait for that one until after this whole mess is over with and I get your clothes off,” Tony replies good-naturedly. 

It hits Loki like a punch to the gut, so suddenly and sharply, that he feels sick. “Stark,” he says lowly and moves closer to the mortal again, forcing Tony to crane his head back to maintain eye contact. “You must promise me that you will not risk your life in the usual fashion, with a complete lack of self preservation.”

Tony’s eyes widen in surprise, but then his expression turns into something pained. “You know, I made a lot of promises like that to Pep and I could never keep them. I knew I couldn’t keep them, but I made them anyway. Don’t make me lie to you, Loki. I don’t want to, and you’d know I was doing it anyway.”

Loki sighs. “You are stubborn.”

“I am unapologetically me.” Tony raises his chin, and there’s a set determination in his eyes. “I always have been. And I’m Iron Man. I can’t stop being him, or myself, not for you or for anyone.”

Before Loki can reply, Strange’s voice rings out from near the ship.

“It’s time,” he calls. “Rocket just spotted the ship breaking through the atmosphere. Positions, now.” 

They stare at each other for a moment, and when Loki doesn’t say anything, Tony offers a tight smile and walks past him towards Strange and the others. Loki almost lets him go, but at the last second, he stops Tony by grabbing onto his wrist. When the man glances back at him, his expression closed off, Loki dips down and brushes their lips together. 

“I did not become enamored with a mortal who would cow so easily, even to a god,” he murmurs, relishing in Tony’s sigh, “and I did not mean to insinuate that I wish for you to be someone you are not. I would not dare request such a thing. I know who you are, Tony Stark.”

Tony hums thoughtfully and looks up at the god from beneath his lashes. “Enamored, huh?”

“You do not yet know the depths,” Loki says simply, and then he walks towards the ship, leaving a wide-eyed Tony standing behind him.


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reading all of your comments means so much to me! ;_; This entire fic turned into the behemoth it is now due to a few scene ideas that will be shown in the last few chapters, and I'm really excited to share them with you all! Also, as per usual, I have bumped the chapter numbers yet again, so expect two more chapters after this instead of one. (:
> 
> Thank you again for your support!

Loki and Strange both sit atop rubble and watch as the Mad Titan disembarks from his ship and looks around, his expression unreadable as his gaze settles on the remains of the Ebony Maw’s ship. He is dressed for war, and there is bronze gauntlet on his left hand that glints in the muted sunlight. It possesses six slots, and four of them have already been filled. Even with so much distance still between them, Loki can feel power emanating from the stones. Hidden away, the Tesseract pulses in response, and out of the corner of his eye, Loki sees Strange rest a few fingertips on the Eye, as if trying to calm it. 

Loki has spent a good dead of time on the ship wondering what he would feel when faced with the Mad Titan again. Fear? Terror? Anger? Instead, and surprisingly, he feels resolve. There is a fire burning in his breast. 

“It’s showtime,” Strange murmurs, and then he raises his voice and speaks in the same sure voice he used on Loki all those years ago. “Oh, yeah. You’re much more of a Thanos.”

Thanos turns towards them, his eyes narrowing. “I assume the Maw is dead. The toll today has been heavy. Still, he accomplished his mission since you’re both here.”

“You may soon regret that,” Loki says smoothly, standing. 

Thanos looks unimpressed. “And why is that, Asgardian?” 

Loki nearly rolls his eyes. “I am not an Asgardian, for one.”

“But I am the Master of the Mystic Arts,” Strange adds, also standing.

“Mysticism,” Thanos repeats along with something that sounds like a chuckle. “Do you know where you are, Master of the Mystic Arts?”

“Your home?”

“It was. And it was beautiful once.” The Titan raises his gauntleted hand and closes his fist. The Reality Stone brightens like an ember exposed to wind and then power flows from it across the entire landscape, changing it until a lively town square, lush greenery, and erect buildings stand in the place of the dust-laden devastation. “But Titan was like most planets: too many mouths to feed and not enough to go around. I merely offered a solution.”

Strange tenses. “Genocide.” 

“It would have been random. Dispassionate. Rich and poor alike would be affected. But they called me a madman, and then what I predicted came to pass.”

“Congratulations,” Loki says sarcastically. “A prophet, blessed by the Norns.”

“Careful, Princeling,” Thanos chides, but there’s steel in his voice. “I am no prophet. I am merely a survivor, like you.” 

Loki clenches his fists at his side but does not reply.

Strange scowls. “You’re a survivor who wants to murder trillions.” 

“With all six stones, I could just snap my fingers and they would just be gone. There would be no pain. No suffering. Only balance. I call that mercy.”

“And then what?”

Thanos smiles, but it lacks persuasion. “And then, I rest. The sun will still rise, and people will thrive. The hardest choices require the strongest wills.”

“I think you’ll find our wills equal to yours,” Loki says and grins, magic flaring around him until he basks in a green glow. Next to him, Strange raises his arms, his orange Mandalas flaring around his wrists. 

And then a large piece of rubble, once the leg of one of the desiccated ships, plummets from above. It slams into Thanos before he can react, crushing him beneath it, and Iron Man stands atop the wreckage, gauntlets powering down. 

“So, lunch?” Tony says nonchalantly, flying off of it.

“I fear you’ve only made him angrier,” Loki deadpans, and steps behind the large shield Strange has erected.

In front of them, the wreckage explodes in slow motion, revealing Thanos standing amidst a purple glow. Loki hisses and digs his feet into the dusty ground as the radiating power hits him. He looks around for Tony and finds him flying in a loop, unaffected, until Thanos closes his fist with a furious bellow and turns the debris into a flock of bats, which immediately head towards Tony in a flurry of movement, crowding him back until he hits and disappears into the ruins. 

It is pure chaos from there, though somewhat—mercifully—controlled.

Spider-Man spits web across the Titan’s eyes, and both Drax and Strange are suddenly there, with knives and magic blades. Loki retrieves his dagger and flings them, three at once, all hitting Thanos in the shoulder. They pulse green and then Thanos snarls, tearing them out even as he continues to block hits from the others. When Drax is flung backwards, Thanos tears the webbing from his eyes and kicks at the sorcerer, flinging him back, in time for Quill, with Rocket on his shoulder, to leap towards him, both shooting. Quill flips overhead at the last moment, and Rocket sticks an explosive on his back. Loki throws a bolt of energy to the explosive so that it explodes in fire and magic, rocketing the Titan forward so that he falls to his knees.

“Strange!” Loki snaps.

“Don’t let him close his hand,” Strange says to the cloak, which flies from his shoulders to wrap around Thanos’ gauntleted hand. 

Strange throws portals for Spider-Man and Rocket to hop through, but the element of surprise does not last. The small beast is swatted away like a fly and Thanos grabs Spider-Man by his throat before slamming him into the ground. Quill shoots at him and the cloak remains wound tightly around his hand, but Spider-Man flails beneath the crushing pressure of the Titan’s death grip. 

“Tony, come to me and do not ask questions,” Loki demands as Tony flies back towards them, finally free of the bats. 

“Your wish is my command,” Tony replies, and a mere second or two later he is standing next to the god.

Loki places his hand over the arc reactor and spills his magic into it. The energies commingle and pulse, and Tony gasps and grabs onto Loki’s shoulder, the metal digging painfully into the god’s muscle and bone. He just grits his teeth and wraps the two energies together until he cannot tell which is which. 

With a hiss, Loki pulls away and yells, “Fire it now!” 

Tony doesn’t let go of Loki. He shudders out a breath, his arc reactor glowing so brilliantly it is bright white and hurts the eyes. The charging hum grows louder, and then the unibeam releases a stream of concentrated energy at the Titan, who flies backwards. Loki and Tony stumble, as well, and Loki’s vision is like a kaleidoscope as he rights himself. 

“What the fuck was that,” Tony heaves, faceplate coming up so he can look Loki in the eye. 

Loki smiles tightly. “A hunch.”

Tony raises a brow but doesn’t ask any other questions, just fires up his boots and makes his way to Spider-Man, who is being helped up by Strange. Several yards away, Drax is finally pulling himself up and out of the rubble.

“This guy is tough,” Spider-Man says, slightly out of breath. 

“Uh oh,” Rocket sings and points. “He looks… well, even more angry.”

Thanos climbs to his feet, his teeth bared. The Cloak is still wrapped around his gauntlet, but he grabs it with the other hand and pulls, his muscles quivering, until a tear echoes across the dust. He flings the red fabric to the side and begins stalking towards them. 

Tony immediately takes to the air, and he and Quill begin firing. Flame erupts around the Titan from Tony’s missiles, but within moments it starts to condense until the energy is balled up in his fist like a sphere of molten lava.

Thanos’ gaze finds Tony.

Loki pulls out the Tesseract and disappears into the smoke only to reappear atop one of the decaying ships, close to where Tony is flying. He launches himself at the red suit, barely reaching him and disappearing them both before the concentrated inferno in Thanos’ hand mimics the unibeam and fires, the long line of flame heading straight for Tony. 

They appear back on the ground just in time to hear Spider-Man yell, “What is that!” before another ship comes flying through the air and straight at Thanos. He doesn’t have time to move out of it’s path, and it hits him dead-on before careening across the red sand.

They all stare. The door to the ship bursts open and a blue woman who looks like some combination of metal and organic material storms out. It only takes Loki a moment to place her: another of Thanos’ children, but a much more surprising betrayal than Gamora’s. She draws her blade and leaps off of the surrounding debris as Thanos stands, bringing it down on him without mercy.

Thanos blocks her and then snarls, “Well, well.”

“You should have killed me,” she sneers back, and begins a series of quick attacks. “Where’s Gamora?” 

That moment of weakness— the way her voice strains, as if trying to hold back fear-laden emotion and failing— is when Thanos strikes. He punches her straight in the face and she flies backwards into her ship, the clang of metal on metal sounding like a bell. 

“Now, you fools, while he is distracted,” Loki hisses.

Strange melds his magic into red, glowing lassos and sends them for the gauntlet. They wrap around it, stopping him from closing his fist, and the moment of distractions allows Drax to sprint from where he’s standing and slide, foot jamming into Thanos’ leg and forcing him to fall to a knee. Quill projectiles himself through the air, Rocket hanging on, and the beast throws a device to the floor that opens before bolts of energy shoot up and cling to Thanos’ other hand. Spider-Man weaves thread around him until Thanos is caccooned, which allows Tony to fly in and grab onto the gauntlet, freeing Strange to open a portal above the Titan as he thrashes against them. Rocket’s magnetic contraption fails just as Loki shackles his own magic around that wrist.

Mantis falls through the air and lands on his shoulders, her hands immediately resting on his head. His eyes cloud over and he stops thrashing, but he doesn’t stop fighting. He twitches and grunts, teeth grinding, and Mantis exclaims, tears welling in her large eyes, “Please be quick! He is strong!” 

Spider-Man and Iron Man begin trying to wrench the gauntlet off of his hand. Quill lands, Rocket hopping off of his shoulder, and immediately struts to stand in front of the Titan. 

“That was easy,” he says with a smirk, and then adds, “and my idea, I might add. Now tell me, where is Gamora?”

Thanos shudders, and the last remnants of Spider-Man’s webs snap. Strange deploys his magic again, this time to wrap them around the Titan to anchor him as his struggles increase.

“My Gamora,” he groans.

“He is in anguish,” Mantis says breathily, her voice thick. Then she sobs out, “He mourns!” 

“Anguish?” Quill repeats. “Why?”

“Gamora.”

Loki glances, along with the others, in the direction of the silky voice. The blue woman— Nebula, if Loki remembers correctly— stands there, her face an angry, grim mask. 

“He took her to Vormir. He came back with the stone, but not Gamora.” 

Tony’s face-plate fades away and he and Loki make eye contact before he starts saying, “Quill, you need to cool it, all right? We’ve almost got it off. Please don’t engage!”

Quill is oblivious. “No. Tell me you didn’t! Tell me you didn’t!”

Thanos grits out three painted, small words — _I had to_ — and then Quill roars and slams the butt of his gun into Thanos’ face one, two, three times. 

“You idiot!” Loki and Strange scream at the same time as Mantis gasps in pain and lets go. 

Thanos wakes quickly. He curls forward and then bows backwards with a roar, the crown of his head slamming into Mantis’ face so hard that she flies from his shoulders as if she’s been catapulted. Drax catches her just before she hits the ground, but they smash into a pile of debris that crumbles around them until they disappear in the avalanche. Thanos strains against the hold the others still have on him for a moment and then drags both arms towards him suddenly, throwing off their footing and giving himself some slack with Strange’s magical restraints. He grabs Quill by the head first and flings him, then he lunges forward and slams his fist down onto the raccoon, who doesn’t move afterwards. Loki, Iron Man, and Spider-Man try to reign him in, but even without the Stones, the Titan is physically stronger than any of them. He disengages them one at a time, but Strange digs his heels into the ground, holding tight to the restraints as if trying to tame a wild beast. 

It doesn’t matter. The Titan closes his gauntleted fist and indigo rushes outwards in one violent pulse. Strange’s ropes of red energy fizzle and fall away like burnt paper, and he attempts to throw up his shields, but he’s slammed backwards by the Power Stone’s energy before he can materialize them. Loki shelters himself, just barely, but Tony is struck. Spider-Man misses the rush and tries to spray webbing around the gauntlet in one last, desperate attempt to disable Thanos, but the Titan grabs it instead, pulling Spider-Man to him so that he can slam his fist into the young man’s face. He falls to the ground, unmoving. 

Loki climbs back to his feet. He wipes blood from the corner of his lip and blinks away the spots that still dance across his vision. Everyone else is down and Strange is missing, so Loki does all he can think to do: he walks forward, wanting to garner the Titan’s attention so that the others may have time to rally, because none of them can do this alone.

Loki wonders, briefly, if they can do it at all.

Thanos turns towards him. The smile he offers is not kind. “The fallen princeling,” he says levelly. “Perhaps you’re meant to be a traitor in all aspects of life. While blind fate is mercy for the rest of the universe, you do not deserve mercy. I will happily kill you first.”

“I would like to see you try,” Loki snarls and in a flash of gold, splits himself into dozens of Lokis, who surround the Titan with magic bursting from their palms. 

“You’re full of tricks, Asgardian, but you don’t fool me.” The orange gem on the gauntlet glows suddenly and softly, like the first hint of sunrise above the horizon. Thanos’ grin widens and he swings around, lashing out to grab at the neck of the one of the clones.

Except it’s not an apparition. The others flicker and fade, but the Loki being crushed by the Titan is very, very real. 

“I’m surprised you have a soul for the stone to pinpoint,” the Titan admits thoughtfully, “but you do, and it burns brightly. I expect it will snuff out as gracefully as a candle.” 

He lifts Loki into the air, and the god grasps at the fingers wrapped around his throat, but they don’t budge. 

“Ah, so there it is,” Thanos says with a chuckle. “I was wondering where you’d hidden the Space Stone. You may be able to keep it away from others in that pocket dimension, but your reality is mine now.”

He raises the gauntleted hand and closes his fist. The Reality Stone flares bright red. When he opens it, plumes of indigo smoke burst forth, and then the Tesseract sits in his palm. Loki thrashes, gurgling protests barely able to make it to his lips, and Thanos merely smiles as he crushes the Tesseract. The blue sphere falls to pieces like broken glass before fading to dust, and then the Space Stone floats there, unfettered and absolutely breathtaking. Thanos turns his hand over, and with one gentle glow from the Power Stone, the Space Stone slots into the socket above his middle finger. 

Thanos shivers with the power that flows through him, and Loki can feel it, like some electric charge, and when it stops, it feels like loss. He has had the Tesseract for so long now that its disappearance is like a void, and if he were not suffocating to death already, he is sure that feeling alone would constrict his chest in a similar manner.

“If you don’t let my boyfriend go,” a voice says from behind him, “I’m going to lose it.”

Before Thanos can react, a red and gold device flies through the air and wraps itself around the gauntlet, bracing the fingers open. Thanos lets go of Loki reflexively, and the god falls to the ground gasping, his vision blackening at the edges. He hears the sounds of the repulsers firing over the ringing in his ears and occasionally sees flashes out of the corner of his eye, but by the time enough oxygen has flowed back into his body, Iron Man is on the ground with a shield manifested above him and energy from the Power Stone lambasting him.

Loki may not be able to teleport as spectacularly without the Tesseract, but his magic still allows him to port short distances. He disappears in a flash of gold and reappears kneeling next to Tony, who barely glances at him when Loki wraps his hand around one of the mortal’s wrists. He grounds his magic in the energy of the arc reactor and allows it to pulse forth until Tony’s shield glows a fierce gold.

“It’s hot when you do that,” Tony grits out. “Can you hold it by yourself? The shield?”

Loki offers a jerky nod of his head and reaches up to grip the handle of the shield. “Do what you plan to do, but do it quick, Stark.”

“When are you going to start calling me Tony?”

Tony disappears from his side before Loki can reply, and the god is immediately pushed backwards by the force of the Power Stone, his heels digging into the dried out dirt. However, it doesn’t last long. There’s a sound like an explosion, and then the force suddenly abates and Loki climbs to his feet, using the shield for leverage, in time to watch Iron Man slam his fist, which has been shaped into a ram thanks to the nanotech, straight into Thanos’ face even as he stands on the Titan’s other hand, stopping him from using the gauntlet. 

“All that for a drop of blood,” Thanos says thoughtfully, and then he propels his arm up, upsetting Iron Man’s balance. 

His fist connects with Iron Man’s faceplate, propelling him down to the ground, and then Thanos is upon his, punching him over and over. Tony’s helmet fractures and repairs itself, fractures and repairs itself, but the repair hits slower the more the nanotech is bombarded. 

Loki starts running and magics his staff into his hand. He uses the dulled end to catapult himself horizontally so that his feet collide with the side of the Titan’s face. The moment’s reprieve allows Tony to use his thrusters to pulse himself backwards and out of Thanos’ reach, and Thanos narrowly blocks Loki’s next attack but grabs onto the staff and grins as he cracks it in half.

“As if you could defeat me with this,” he laughs.

Loki stands his ground. “Oh, that’s not all,” he replies, his voice still hoarse from the grip the Titan had on his neck. Around him, rocks quiver and begin to rise off of the ground, glowing a pale green, and the curls of his dark hair lift around his face. “Did you know that there are prophecies about me, Titan? The Norns say I will cause Ragnarok and bring about apocalyptic devastation. The end of the gods, as it were.”

Thanos shakes his head in mocking disbelief. “You will only cause your own ruin, Asgardian.”

Loki smirks. “Be that as it may, I am so very tired of people telling me what I can and cannot do.”

Loki’s magic coalesces and rises behind him in the form of a behemoth serpent. The beast roars, energy flowing off of him like turbulent waves at sea just before a storm. Loki trembles with the fortitude it takes to gather so much into himself and then control its projection, and the world of Titan offers no help: it is desiccated to its very core, offering no energy for the god to anchor his seidr to. It’s dangerous, but he sees too much red now. He will pour his very life force into it, if it means the Titan will crash and burn. 

_He wants—_

“Come on!” Thanos snarls.

The magic surges forth and hits the Titan like a tsunami, falling down on him with enough force to shatter the ground beneath his feet. He seems surprised, for a single moment, as he scrambles to remain standing, before he remembers that the Power Stone is stronger. Thanos holds up the gauntlet and the purple glow of the stone protects him like a raised shield. Untouched, even as the air around him scorches within the breath of Loki’s venomous magic. 

Loki’s body screams. The magic burns within him, clawing at his insides as it pours forth, unencumbered and wild, but all he can do is think of Tony’s face, bruised and bloody between the Titan’s strikes. With a growl, Loki forces the magic to bear down harder, until his knees all but buckle, just as the Titan’s do. 

“Enough!” Thanos bellows suddenly. He closes his fist, and an energy burst emits off of him like the aftermath of a bomb strike. 

Loki crumples forward, his magic stopped so suddenly he can barely breathe from the whiplash. His body feels both boneless and heavy, but he struggles up to his hands and knees. He looks up in time to see Tony sparring with the Titan again, blasting him with his repulsers and blocking the jackhammer blows with his bracers. The Titan reaches forward suddenly and grabs at his faceplate, causing it to shatter and fall away from his face.

Instead of the suit focusing on rebuilding his helmet, Tony’s right glove forms into a blade. 

Loki watches, and it’s as if he’s viewing it in slow motion even though it all happens so quickly. There is a final attempt from Tony, but the Titan stops the incoming blows. He snaps the blade free and without hesitation, jams it into Tony’s abdomen. Tony’s eyes widen, his lips slightly parted in surprise, and his hands come to cup the blade. Thanos walks Tony backwards, using the blade as leverage, until Tony’s knees hit debris and he sinks into a sitting position on top of it. 

“You fought well, Stark,” Thanos says, and there’s some reverence in his tone. A modicum of respect for the mortal who dared to face the most powerful being in the universe. 

A modicum of respect for the mortal who is about to die.

_No._ Loki forces himself to his feet, ready to burn the last dredges of his being if it means trading his life for Tony Stark’s, but a hand lands on his shoulder and shoves him back down, dousing his magic before it can ruin him. 

“Wait,” the voice says gently, and then, loudly and commanding: “I’ll give it to you. The Stone. But spare his life.” 

Loki looks up at the Sorcerer Supreme. Strange looks like a specter of himself, pale and bleeding from a large gash on the side of his face. Even the cloak is in tatters, but there is still a determination in the sorcerer’s stance and in the way he holds his chin, angled slightly upwards, as if daring the Titan to take his bargain. As if daring him not to. 

Loki hopes to the gods he knows something they do not.

“Don’t,” Tony manages, his voice rough and strangled with pain, but Strange walks forward anyway, one hand reaching up for the Eye of Agamotto. 

“No tricks,” Thanos says, eyes narrowed. 

Strange shakes his head. “No tricks,” he concedes as the Eye opens and the Time Stone is revealed, glowing a brilliant emerald green. He reaches in and removes the stone, not faltering even though his hand shakes.

“Strange,” Tony warns, hand pressed to his abdomen and face contorted in pain and rage and fear. 

Thanos holds out his hand, and Strange lets the stone go. It floats the distance between them, pulled forward by the call of the others, and lands in the socket above Thanos’ thumb. He winces, body tensing as power rockets through him, but when it settles, he smiles.

“One to go,” he says, almost in wonderment, and then the Mad Titan disappears into a plume of indigo smoke.


	10. Ten

The Titan is gone.

Strange leans against a discarded piece of scrap metal and sinks down to the ground next to Loki. They glance at each other, and Loki is sure his expression mirrors Strange’s grim mask, but they say nothing, and neither does Tony. The silence is deafening. Loki doesn’t know how long the three of them sit there, staring at the spot where the Titan disappeared, when the others start reappearing. First Peter Parker, who makes a staggering bee-line for Tony but stops when he notices the expression on the other man’s face; then Drax and Mantis, both bruised and battered and covered in black and red dust; then Rocket, who finally crawls his way from the hole he had been battered into; and then Nebula, whose expression remains impassive but whose eyes sparkle with rage.

The last one to reappear is Quill, but when he does, he looks around wildly, the color draining from his face. His expression mirrors what flutters beneath Loki’s breast.

“Where is he!?” Quill demands. “Where!?”

No one answers him. 

With no ceremony or warning, Tony rips the blade form his abdomen with a strangled groan and immediately uses a suit function to patch up the laceration. His chest heaves and his face is contorted, both in pain and in something else— disappointment, or guilt, or some brutal combination of the two— but there is a darkness all but radiating off of him that makes Loki even more tense than he already is. And oh, he is very tense. He has seen Tony Stark almost die too many times for his liking. 

As Loki seethes, Tony finally makes eye contact with him, but immediately looks away, finding Strange, and something in his expression hardens. 

“Why would you do that?” he demands, still breathless. “How could you give him the stone? After everything you said on Earth about it being your job to protect it? You handed him the win on a golden fucking platter.”

Strange grimaces, but there is a resolve about him. “I had to. We’re in the endgame now.”

“What does that even mean?” Quill snaps. 

“We’re going to need your ship,” is all Strange replies as he drags himself to his feet. “How long will it take? To travel to Earth from here?”

Quill just glares at him, his pursed lips trembling. He looks like a child about ready to throw a tantrum, and if he had the energy to spare, Loki would turn him into a fish so he could watch him suffocate on this dust-laden planet. They are in this mess because Quill is a selfish idiot, and he deserves to suffer. They cannot risk infighting now, but if he survives this, Loki plans to make the Midgardian’s life a living Hel. 

Rocket looks equally as frustrated with Quill, but settles for a low growl before he focuses on Strange. “We’re in the same system, so a few jumps and we’d be there.”

Strange gives a curt nod. “Let’s get everyone rounded up, then. We need to go as soon as possible.” 

Loki stands and watches the others hobble in the direction of the ship, all of them except Tony, who remains where he is, staring down at his boots. Parker hesitates, like he wants to wait for Tony, but one look from Loki has him scampering after the others. Loki feels guilty for a split moment, because he knows how much Tony means to him, but he doesn’t have time, nor does he have the capacity to share the minuscule amount of time he’s going to be able to steal.

Slowly, Loki approaches the mortal and places a hand on his shoulder. The other man closes his eyes upon the contact, his eyebrows drawing low on his forehead.

“Stark,” Loki says quietly.

“Did you create the giant snake because of the weird Norse myth about you having a serpent for a kid?”

Loki’s lips curve of their own accord. “Perhaps.”

“Never change,” the mortal grunts as he stands, using Loki for leverage. 

He still won’t make eye contact, so Loki cups his chin gently and forces the mortal to look at him. Tony looks tired, bone-deep tired, and the fine lines bracketing his lips and creasing the edges of his eyes seem even more prominent than they had earlier that same day. 

“Stark.” Loki pauses, and then, his voice softening: “Tony.”

“That’s cheating,” Tony says with a huff, swallowing thickly like he’s trying to reign himself in. “You’re a cheater.”

Loki skims his fingertips over the bruise beginning to bloom on Tony’s cheekbone. “What is it you told me? Last chance to back out.”

“And using my own words against me. Rude.”

“We will win,” Loki states decisively. 

Tony shakes his head and looks away. “Will we? Because if this was any indication to go by, odds aren’t looking good.”

“We must.” Loki’s hand slides to the back of his head, fingers combing through his hair, and the smallest amount of tension melts from his mortal’s shoulders. “Or you will likely never bed me, and that is a future neither of us is fond of, I imagine.” 

Tony laughs and then hisses in pain, a hand coming to his stomach, but the smile remains, albeit a bit more strained. “You sure know how to rally the troops, if you know what I mean.”

“It is a selfish endeavor, really. I want you. I mean to have you.”

Tony smirks. “Well, selfish or not, we still need to figure out how to save the world in the name of sexy, Norse god sex. Let’s get back to the others and blow this popsicle stand.”

Loki draws him close and dips down to murmur into his ear. “You fought valiantly, Stark. Your bravery is rivaled by no other I’ve ever met.”

“You went toe to toe with him, too,” Tony replies, his voice muffled by Loki’s leathers. 

“Revenge burns hot in the hearts of gods just as it does men. I do not know if I would be so quick to strike had I not fallen into the void and his service. I am a selfish being and I make no excuses otherwise.”

“For someone so vain, you take compliments terribly.”

Loki smiles and slips as arm around Tony’s waist and helps him to his feet. “And yet you will continue to give them to assuage my vanity.”

Tony snorts. “So demanding.”

Together, they make their way to the ship. 

Loki isn’t sure what he expected, but of course, there seems to be some hitch in their plan. Everyone is circled around Rocket, who stands there with his arms crossed and looks up at them. “I don’t know what else you want me to say. I could make something up, if it makes you feel better, but this plan’s still not gonna work.”

Strange looks like he may have a coronary. “Why not?” 

“The fuel cells are damaged. We’d be able to get the ship off the ground, but we’d be dead in the water in no time.” Rocket sighs and scrubs a paw over his face. “We need a different option. Can’t you make us one of those glittery portals back to Terra?”

Strange closes his eyes tightly, as if attempting to will emotion back into the depths. Loki is sure he and Strange are both equally drained, magically speaking, and the concept of failing once again is settling poorly with the sorcerer. “I don’t think—” He pauses. “I’m not sure. I’ve never created a portal to another world before, and I’m wea—”

“You can do it and you will,” Loki says firmly, stepping forward. “I will loan you what is left of my magic. We will do it together.”

Strange stares hard at Loki, like he still doesn’t quite trust him to make the right calls, so he’s unsure whether he should go along with it. “I saw the spell you cast with the serpent. You must be running on empty right now.”

Loki’s resolved expression does not change. “Not quite empty, and what is left is yours. I will not accept no for an answer. We must get back or all of this is for naught.”

Strange walks towards him and claps a hand around Loki’s upper arm. Loki tenses, glancing down at the scarred fingers gripping leather, before slowly moving his gaze back up to the sorcerer. Strange studies his face as if trying to parse something from it, his expression even more pinched than normal. 

“I didn’t see this,” he admits quietly and a little anxiously, loud enough only for the god to hear. “What game are you playing?”

Loki dislikes the accusation, but even more, he dislikes the truth ringing in the words. Fourteen-million possibilities, and the man is telling him he did not see this act of Loki’s in any of them. Either Strange is a far worse Sorcerer Supreme than he claims to be, or it doesn’t bode well, as far as Loki is concerned. If they’ve edged off the beaten path…

He says none of this aloud. Instead, he offers a self-deprecating smile. “The Norns do love dragging my fate every which way, but it matters not. We have no other choice, and I will not end this without a fight.”

Strange nods slowly, his grip loosening. “All right, then. How do we do this?”

***

“It’s go time,” Tony says, trying to seem cheerful but unable to keep the edge from his voice. “Lokes, you ready?”

He isn’t, and he’s sure Tony knows it, but he would never say it aloud. Tony likely knows that, as well. “I am. Doctor?”

Strange nods grimly. “All right, everyone, be ready and move fast. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to hold it open.”

Spider-Man offers an awkward salute. Nebula says and does nothing but looks as if she was ready to leave yesterday. The Guardians of the Galaxy — gods, Loki hates their ridiculous, preposterous name — all nod. All except Quill, who glances back at his ship, which they plan to leave behind and come back for at some point, and Loki wants nothing more than to blast the expression off his face. 

Strange holds up both hands, fingers poised, and next to him, Loki channels his seidr. He is immediately struck by how tired he is, but he grinds his teeth and perseveres, comforted by the fact that the sorcerer looks like he’s equally as ragged. When a small spark ignites in the air and Strange begins to move his right hand clockwise, the god gathers his seidr into his palms so that small verdant flames burst to life. 

As Strange picks up speed, the orange spark flares and then stretches open slowly, spitting and hissing, until Loki can make out a familiar, dim room inside of the circle. The mingled scent of New York and old books that wafts through, and the god allows himself one single iota of relief. 

“Loki,” Strange grits out, his legs shaking, body tense, and teeth bared as he tries to widen the portal, which seems to stall at about the size of a small window. 

Loki takes a breath and then sends the flames at the portal. When they meet Strange’s magic, they immediately dissipate into it, as if melting, and for a moment, Loki thinks this won’t work, not the same way it works with Tony’s arc reactor, but then the portal flickers and explodes, the orange sparks blazing a bright green as the circles widens. 

“Go now!” Strange hisses, his face paling as his hands start to tremble. 

The strain hits Loki a moment later, like some aftershock of the Doctor’s strain, and his stomach plummets to somewhere near his knees with the force it takes him to maintain the spells. 

Time seems to slow. The Guardians rush through, Nebula snarling and stomping as she all but drags Quill behind her. Parker follows them as the ghosts of Loki’s magic, burning pale and translucent on his palms, flicker like someone is trying to blow them out. The portal destabilizes momentarily, causing the flow to jolt and send green sparks spraying in every which direction. Strange flexes his hand and Loki digs his heels into the dirt, both of them funneling everything they have into trying to keep the portal open. On the other end of it, peering through from the Sanctum, Parker is screaming, his facemask off and his eyes wide and fearful.

“Mr. Stark!” he yells.

“Stark, you need to go,” Strange snaps, his hands quivering so hard the portal jerks with them. “We’ll be right behind you.” 

In that moment, Loki realizes that Strange didn’t plan for them to be right behind him. Or at least, he wasn’t banking on it being a sure possibility. The sorcerer is so wrapped up in Tony’s supposed destiny— his absolute need to be alive, as some catalyst to success against the Titan— that he is willing to trap both himself and Loki on this god forsaken planet.

Loki doesn’t blame him. He would likely have done the same, if he was cursed with Strange’s knowledge.

Tony, however, doesn’t budge. There’s an accusatory scowl on his face “You know, after being around the God of Lies for so long, I think my bullshit detector is a lot stronger than you’re giving me credit for.”

Strange shudders out an angry breath. “This isn’t a game, Stark!”

“Oh, I didn’t think it was. Hey, Cloak of Destiny, can you pull David Copperfield through? ‘Cause I’m not going otherwise.” 

Why the cloak listens to Tony will likely be a question for the ages, but it does, suddenly wrapping around Strange’s shoulders and dragging the sorcerer forward. The sudden movement causes the portal to blanche, and Loki tenses until his abdominal and thigh muscles quiver violently, sending every last scrap he has left to keep it open. 

“What are you doing?” Strange yells, struggling to pull backwards.

“Stop fighting it, you fool!” Loki snarls, and Strange glances back at him, frenzied and unsure, before he finally allows the cloak to pull him forward and through the portal, which shudders again. 

Loki feels hot breath on the shell of his ear, and then Tony whispers, “Time to go, Magical Barbie,” before he scoops Loki up, one arm sweeping beneath the god’s buckling knees as the sound of his thrusters firing up breaks through the uneven hiss of the portal. Loki doesn’t release the hold he has on his seidr, but he can feel it waning quickly, and it is miraculous that they make it through the portal before it closes, but they do, just before it collapses. 

And then they slam straight into the Cauldron of the Cosmos. 

“Are you kidding me?” Strange snaps. 

“You did loiter a bit,” Rocket says thoughtfully. “Pretty sure this is your fault.”

“It is not—“ 

Nebula huffs an angry, raspy breath. “The fox is correct. You loitered.” 

“I’m not a fox!” 

“Fine, then. A squirrel?” 

Loki opens his eyes. The cold floor is pressed into his back, and the cold metal of the Iron Man suit is pressed against his front, and Tony stares down at him, his dark eyes searching and his normal mask of flippant nonchalance replaced by something hungry and afraid. 

“I would never leave you behind,” he says quietly, almost pleading. “God, Loki, I lo—”

“Boss. Your Highness. Welcome back.”

They both jerk, unprepared for the woman’s voice in their ear, but a smile splits Tony’s face nevertheless. “FRIDAY, it is _really_ good to hear your voice.”

“Yours as well, Boss.”

Tony stands and reaches out a hand, which Loki takes, allowing the man to pull him up. His legs still feel weak, but being back on Midgard already fuels his seidr. The energy pulsing through the planet soaks into him, and he closes his eyes and revels in it after the painful emptiness he felt on Titan. 

“Give me the lowdown, FRIDAY.”

The Guardians and Strange stop bickering and listen to Tony as he relays the ghost’s updates. Everyone is gathered in or in the process of gathering in Wakanda, according to recent reports, shepherded there by Captain America and Wong in preparation to protect Vision, who had been bombarded by some of Thanos’ children in Scotland. 

“They will come for him again, and soon, if they have not come already,” Loki says grimly. “Especially now that his is the only stone the Titan needs to complete the gauntlet. We must go to Wakanda, and fast.” 

***

Less than an hour later, a portal opens and Wong steps through. He looks tired and worse for wear, and he glances around slowly, shaking his head as if he can’t believe his eyes, before he says, “Surprisingly, this isn’t the weirdest bunch I’ve seen today. You should follow me. It’s already started. He brought an army.” 

“Do we have a Hulk?” Tony asks. 

Wong purses his lips. 

Tony sighs. “FRIDAY, I have an idea. Can you send the Hulkbuster to Wakanda, stat, and get it set up for Brucie? I want it there ASAP.” 

“You got it, Boss. ETA 12 minutes.”

Wong’s portal opens into a sleek, softly lit workshop that has Rocket and Tony both whistling as they turn around in circles. There are significant signs of damage, though, including a shattered glass bay window that looks out onto the carnage happening below and at the ships that loom like black pyramids in the distance.

And there are many ships, including a large warship. The number make Loki’s stomach twist into knots. 

“Well shit,” Tony says eloquently and then turns to Wong. “Where is Vision?”

Wong grimaces. “He was here. The Wakandans were trying to help remove the Mind Stone safely removed without killing him, but Thanos’ army came looking for him.”

“Is everyone here?” Strange asks.

Wong levels him with a look. “What, you wanted more? I got everyone and then some. The sorcerers have been paired with non-magical warriors. Captain America gathered the remainder of the Avengers, and Thor arrived shortly before you did, with an army of Asgardians.” 

Quill steps forward. “And now the Guardians of the Galaxy are here.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Yeah, right. Anyway. FRIDAY, I want ear pieces distributed to Strange and the Goofballs of the Galaxy here, and can you get us and Blue Man Group here hooked up to the Avengers’ comms frequency? I’m assuming, since you’re kind of like an android, that we can just patch you into the frequency, right?”

“What is Blue Man Group?” Nebula questions, head tilting.

“They’re really cool,” Parker interjects. 

Tony offers a quick grin. “I promise to take you both to a show if we survive this. There’s music and a lot of paint. It’s great.” 

Loki separates from them and stares outside. The majority of the sky is blue and clear, a stark contrast to the smoke, fire, and bloodshed gracing the Wakandan grasslands. Thanos’ army moves like a pack of rabid dogs, and his technology moves even more cruelly, mowing down everything in its path. How are they to beat such savagery? Loki scoffs to himself as he thinks of Odin. Perhaps this would be the perfect venture for the All-Father—unforgiving violence for the sake of winning the war.

Loki retrieves his staff and then closes his eyes, gently prodding at his weak seidr to coat himself in armor. It takes little time with Tony’s nanotech to get everyone prepared. Suddenly, static hisses in his ear, and Loki turns his head sharply to make eye contact with Tony before they hear Barton’s voice, loud and clear, over the comms: “Vision needs backup, now!”

“That’s our cue,” Tony says, suit coming up to cover his face. “It’s go time.”

Wong opens another portal into the middle of the fray. Thanos’ eldritch horrors— the chitauri and others, equally as horrifying and equally as ruthless— flank them immediately, and the Guardians waste no time in returning their attentions. Parker swings into action, as well, followed by Strange, who pays Tony a speculative glance before he brandishes his magic weapons alongside Wong. Tony flies into the air, but he remains in Loki’s vicinity.

“Stark? Is that you?” Romanoff questions, a hopeful edge to her voice.

“In the flesh. I see you’ve all been busy while I’ve been in space. I brought some new friends. Try not to get too jealous. Oh, and some old friends, too.” 

“Oh god, Tony, you’re alive. Wait, is that the Hulkbuster?” Banner exclaims. 

“I brought it for you since you’re still having trouble getting the Hulk up, if you know what I mean.” 

“Tony,” Banner warns, but there’s an exhausted chuckle in his voice.

“Tony, holy shit, it’s good to hear your voice,” Rhodes sighs over the comms. “I thought you’d gotten yourself killed.” He pauses. “Again. I can’t keep dealing with this, man.”

“I’ll have you know I did the saving this time around, okay. The wizards would have been toast without me,” Tony replies, firing up his repulsors to blast several of the void creatures Loki misses when he spins his staff and strikes the remainder in the head, decimating their faces.

“Stark,” Rogers says, cautiously. “I’m—”

Before Tony can reply, Loki sneers, his voice more feral Jotun than royal Aeisr, “Save your pitiful regrets for a later time, Captain.”

There is silence, but Loki thinks he hears Tony snort and Barton make a choked sound. 

“Brother!” Thor booms, completely oblivious, and Loki winces at the volume but welcomes his voice. In the distance, a loud clap of thunder sounds. “It has been some time since we have fought together. I am honored to stand next to you in battle.”

“Do not get too excited yet, you idiot. The Titan has all of the stones but one.” 

“All of them?” an accented voice Loki doesn’t recognize asks. 

Rhodes groans. “Well, fuck.”

“Help now!” Barton grunts. “I have eyes on Thanos but I’m down! I think my ankle’s broken, fuck!”

“Whatever you do, don’t let him close the gauntlet!” Strange grunts into the comms. 

Iron Man suddenly wraps an arm around Loki’s waist, and before the god can react, they’re in the air. Loki grits his teeth but holds on and closes his eyes, allowing everything else to fade, and his meager seidr reaches out for the familiar cadence of the Mind Stone.

“East of us,” Loki croaks as he finds the Mind Stone but also the others near by. “In the valley, Thor. Now!”

Storm clouds follow them and Thor appears in their periphery, his eyes glowing an icy blue and crackling with unshed power. Below, Loki is able to see the full extent of the battle from this high up, including the familiar shine of Asgardian armor. The Captain and the Widow fight two of Thanos’ Children, matching them blow for blow as Spider-Man swings above them in the trees, doing his best to cull the horde of beasts rushing in their direction. The Hulkbuster and Cull Obsidian clash, and others he knows of but hasn’t yet met cut through the throngs of Chitauri even as they keep coming, undeterred by pain or exhaustion. Flanks of Wakandas chant, slamming the butts of their weapons against the blood-soaked Earth in a rhythmic beat. 

Loki nearly chokes when he feels a sudden rush of the Mind Stone’s power before it disappears.

“She’s destroyed it,” Loki manages. “The Mind Stone.”

Except when they finally have eyes on Wanda Maximoff, it’s in time to watch Thanos activate the Time Stone. Vision’s lifeless, lackluster body suddenly bows and raises up as the green magic circling Thanos’ wrist turns like the hands of a clock being manually adjusted. Wanda bellows and lunges, crimson magic leaking from her palms, but Thanos backhands her, sending her careening through the trunk of a tree, before he picks up a struggling Vision by the throat and plucks the stone from his forehead. 

He has just enough time to place the stone into its inlet on the gauntlet, power shimmering across the Titan’s skin and causing him to roar, before Thor strikes him with lightning. 

“Do not let him close his hand!” Tony snarls into the comms, dropping Loki to the ground before joining Thor in the fray.

The others make their way towards the Titan and throw themselves into the fight, alternating who can keep his gauntlet open, almost like they did on Titan, except there are more of them here. Strange steps out of a portal and into the fight, using his shields to blocks blows Thanos attempts to land with his naked hand as well as keeping open portals for easy escapes. Even though many of the Avengers have not worked together in some time, and many of those here haven’t fought side by side at all, they all slot into the mindset of a team, allowing their actions and reactions to play off of each other for maximum benefit. Loki marvels at Tony, who interacts on the battlefield with the Captain and the Widow the same way he would have before what occurred in Germany and Siberia. Who shoots a void creature off of the back of the Winter Soldier. Who acts as if they had done nothing to wrong him. As if they did not try to kill him in cold blood.

This world doesn’t deserve Tony Stark. 

Loki doesn’t have the luxury to attempt to kill Thanos. His magic is still too weak, and plus, the Chitauri seem to have a taste for his blood. They scamper past Rocket and the Winter Soldier even though the gun-laden duo shoot many of them down and head straight for Loki, who swings his spear and throws daggers as fast as he can magic them into his hand. 

He isn’t sure when it all goes south, but it does, and Loki glances over his shoulder when he hears the Titan roar. The only thing keeping his hand open is Thor, who bellows right back, lightning pouring from his eye sockets and crackling along the surface of Mjolnir in a more violent manner than Loki has ever seen. The others are littered across the landscape, unmoving or barely moving or doing their best to climb to their feet, or pull a comrade away from the fray. 

Loki doesn’t know why, but he turns and finds Tony, who is sprawled on the ground, his faceplate shattered and not reforming. Tony doesn’t look at Loki, though. He’s looking at Strange, who stares back and says nothing, just holds up a shaking hand, all of his fingers but one folding down.

_One._

In that moment, Loki knows why he was meant to keep Tony Stark alive: so that this beautiful, fearless mortal could sacrifice himself. Again. None of them have said it, not out loud, but it’s virtually impossible not to notice that Thanos’ right arm is mottled and scarred, and he hasn’t even used the full power of the stones yet. It’s obviously that there is no way a mortal could pay the toll the stones require and survive. 

And yet, the spotlight falls on Tony. 

Suddenly, Thanos pulls the Power Stone from the gauntlet, wraps his fist around it, and pummels Thor in the chest, dislodging him before pummeling the Thunderer into the ground. He’s barely replaced the stone in its inlet before Tony, knowing full well that he is skipping right into martyrdom, dives for the gauntlet and he holds on for dear life. Thanos snarls and flings Iron Man off as if he were a paper doll, none the wiser as to why it was so easy. He looks down on Tony demurely, but a smile pulls at his face as he snaps his fingers.

Nothing happens. 

“What?” the Titan murmurs, and then he notices that Tony is holding up his own hand, gauntleted in the Iron Man glove that has reformed itself to be able to hold the six stones, which glow and cast an otherworldly spectrum of light onto Tony’s dark, glassy eyes. 

“FRIDAY, send me the gauntlet!” Loki interrupts with a snarl, and before Tony can react, before the power of the gauntlet can singe him from his very core, it unfolds from his hand fluidly in only the way Tony’s nanotech can and flies to Loki, molding around his palm and fingers without a hitch. He feels nothing much at first, just a tingle, before the stones pulse and their power courses through him, immediately mingling with his seidr whether he wants it to or not. The sheer force and utter fullness of the coalescence takes his breath away.

“Loki, no!” Tony all but shrieks, climbing to his feet but stumbling in his blind panic. The expression on his face is devastatingly equal parts horrified and furious. “Don’t fucking do it, you asshole!” 

“The Fates be damned, but I will not lose you,” Loki manages, his voice like sandpaper, and then he turns towards the Titan. A strange curtain of serenity falls over him as he gazes upon Thanos’ stricken face. “Look upon your very own Ragnarok and cower, Titan, because I am inevitable.” 

And then he snaps his fingers.


	11. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for tolerating my evil, evil cliffhanger! (:
> 
> To repay you for your patience, I'm actually bumping this -- yet again -- to include an addition chapter. That being said, this chapter is a bit shorter than my norm, but the length and where it ended felt right, so here we are.
> 
> Also, thank you all for your general support and kind words. It fuels me to work on this fic despite the excessive amount of writing I am doing as I finish this semester of grad school. x_x

Loki’s mind wakes even though his body does not. 

For a moment everything is black, but slowly, memories filter in like a fine mist. He remembers the gauntlet enveloping his hand like a second skin and Tony Stark’s dark eyes—the tears and anger and betrayal and _loss_ flickering in them before the stones roared to life, making Loki’s seidr both sing and scream. The price was steep, but he knows, even though he did not see it with his own eyes, that the Mad Titan is dead.

He also knows that the same fate has befallen him. 

He had hoped, for once in this life, that his Jotun ancestry would provide him with something of value. That it would be enough to go head to head with the toll taken by the stones so he could continue living a life he never would have picked for himself but now holds to his breast like the most precious of treasures. A life he was willing to sacrifice, so that Tony did not have to do the same. 

He feels nothing physically, but something hot and painful rushes through him nonetheless at the thought of never seeing To--

“Open your eyes, Odinson.”

The voice is like smoke and whiskey, but with a violent edge that promises both suffering and pleasure. Loki doesn’t recognize it, and yet it calls to him all the same, like some long lost echo in a cave that has finally bounced back after eons of time. The familiarity of it scares him, even though he doesn’t know why, and he struggles against the dead weight of his body. 

“I expected more from you,” the voice huffs, dripping with an almost affectionate disdain. “Are you truly merely Odin’s war prize? A simpering excuse for a Prince of Asgard? Open your bloody eyes, before I carve them out of your skull.”

The cold heaviness that suffocates his body slowly recedes, pulling away like silken sheets so that the feeling may crash back into his limbs. He stretches his fingers, wincing at the sensation of pins and needles that courses up his arms, and then blinks a few times until a pale, angular face framed by a curtain of dark, silken hair comes into view. The woman smiles, but her green eyes are sharp and deadly like the tip of a blade, and every time she moves, even just the slightest fraction, her porcelain skin seems to fade in an ethereal shimmer until half of her face is a pristine white skull with a black void shimmering in the eye socket. 

“There we are,” she murmurs, her smile growing, and she reaches out a hand to touch the side of his face. The tips of her fingers are like ice and chase away the remainder of the dullness lingering in his body. “Welcome to Hel, little brother.” 

“Brother?” Loki manages to rasp.

Without replying, the woman grabs him by the hand and pulls him to his feet in one swift motion. He stumbles on unsteady legs and nearly falls into her, but rights himself at the last moment even though his vision swims from the sudden movements. In a slight panic, he tries to draw his seidr to him, but there is a yawning void where it would normally be. He closes his eyes and forces himself to breath, to settle into this new, strange, terrible feeling, and realizes that this emptiness feels strikingly similar to the desolation of Titan. 

The irony is infuriating. 

Loki grits his teeth and opens his eyes. He finds that the woman is already sitting on a grand, jagged throne made of obsidian and stone with her long legs crossed and her pale hands linked in her lap as she studies him with a terrifying grace. Clad in black and verdant leather reminiscent of Asgardian armor, there is something hauntingly beautiful and familiar about her.

When she says nothing, Loki tears his gaze from her to glance around. It is like looking upon the vaulted halls of Asgard, except where there should be gold and guilding, there is stone and darkness. Shadows creep in the corners, moving silkily in the periphery of Loki’s vision, and mist that blankets all of Niflheim curls around his ankles, except here, it swirls like delicate fingers attempting to root him where he stands. He and the woman are alone in the grand, bleak hall, but there are whispers on the wind that makes his chilled skin prickle. 

“I must say, I am disappointed in you.”

Loki looks back towards her, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “And why is that?”

“This was not written in the Fates. You were not to die today, and yet here you are.” She sighs, raising a hand to tap her long, pale fingers against her bottom lip in thought. “It does very much undermine my plans, not to mention the legacy of the Norns.”

“Curse the Norns,” Loki says, unable to help himself, and then smiles tightly, adding, “and curse your plans.”

She grins suddenly, and the darkness lurking at the edges of the room seems to grow until it climbs up the walls. “Careful, little brother. You would be wise to choose your words carefully. You may curse the Norns all you wish, but I hold your fate in my hands now.”

“Little brother,” he repeats, taking a few steps towards her, aware that the shadows follow and the mist grasps anxiously. “Why do you call me this? Who are you?”

Her smile fades, replaced by a sneer. “Of course you do not know me. Once upon a time, I was a daughter of Odin, though I would more accurately be described as the weapon he wielded in his conquest to build Asgard’s empire. The realms were not always his and Asgard did not always rule… and I was not always Hela, the Goddess of Death, but Hela Odindottir, the crown princess of Asgard.”

Loki wants to call out her claims as falsehoods, but even as she speaks, he knows she does not lie. Suddenly, her garb of black and green leathers, her dark hair, her jade eyes— it all makes a perfect, sickening sense. As a child, he noticed how differently he looked in relation to his brother and the rest of his family, but it seemed unimportant compared to his need to measure up to Thor and to impress his father. After learning of his true heritage and his subsequent fall from the Bifrost, Loki dwelled upon it with a savage focus, raging inside of his broken mind and desperate to figure out why Odin wrapped him in this specific glamor. He assumed that the Allfather couldn’t bear to have him, a Jotun in disguise, look as if he were a true prince of Asgard and son of Odin and Frigga. He could not look like Thor, who shared their golden hair and blue eyes and stately frame. 

Raised a prince, yes, but othered all the same. 

Instead, the old fool had been trying to recreate his exiled daughter, and Loki does not think he has ever witnesses such poetry as this final show of Odin’s perpetual selfish exploits and twisted justice. 

“Why are you here?” he finally asks, even though he knows the answer will only make the sickness knotting his stomach worse, but he has to know.

“The same reason you were cast off into the void, I imagine,” she replies with a flick of her wrist and a roll of her eyes, trying to seem unfazed even though there’s a rage boiling just under the surface of her porcelain expression. “My ambitions outgrew his, and for it—for being what he wanted me to be, what he groomed me to be—I was punished. I am bound to Helheim while he lives, and so I had been hoping that you would live up to your prophecy.”

Loki raises his brows. “My prophecy? You mean Ragnarok?”

She smiles blandly, resting her elbow on the arm of the throne and her chin in the palm of her hand. 

Ah, yes. Of course. She must truly be a daughter of Odin, to so seamlessly lead him to this point of conversation. He can barely contain the grimace that twists his lips. “So what do you expect of me, then? To play a pawn in your grasp for power?”

“Not a pawn, little brother,” she says, standing in one fluid motion. Behind her, the shadow rise, as well, until they coat the walls and spill across the stone floor like spilled ink. “A partner. An equal, for once in your miserable life. Join me, and together we will cull Asgard of its duplicitous, self-righteous overlord.”

Loki would be lying if he didn’t admit that it was a tempting offer. The loathing he’d held for Odin had been soothed by a Midgardian mortal with a quick grin and an even quicker wit, but Hela has managed in their short acquaintance to stoke the flame back into its original glory. He would happily see Odin burn, brought to dust by the very egomaniacal mistakes he tried to hide, but Loki knows it would not stop there. Hela is Odin’s daughter, after all. He can tell by looking upon her that Frigga is not her mother, which means she does not possess the small inkling of piety that lives and breathes in Thor and has allowed him to break free from Odin’s deluge of lies. 

Loki is also well aware that any number of threads in the Norns’ tapestry could have lead him towards a similar path as the Goddess of Dead that stands before him — hungry for revenge and death and yet unable to be satiated. Instead, he ended up, at least in this timeline, in the service of a certain cloaked sorcerer who put the god on a path that he made his own. 

“I appreciate your offer,” Loki says with a grim smile of his own, “but honestly, I am quite tired of being swept up in the plots of others. I made a choice and I will abide by it, if for no other reason than it was mine and mine alone, not one from a multitude that I was meant to choose based on the whims of the Norns. If I am to rot in Hel for all eternity, or until something else finally wrenches life from the Allfather, so be it.”

“You dare spite me in my own realm?” Hela seethes. She runs her hands backwards over the crown of her head, magic seeping from her fingertips like thick, green smoke, until she dons a battle headdress that hugs the curve of her skull and spouts several sharp, jagged horns that reminds Loki of pincers. 

Loki stays his ground even as the shadows seem to crawl towards him, moving erratically. “I offer no spite, sister. I only hold fast to my newfound independence, a thing our father never allowed me.” 

That gives her pause. She studies him with a vicious scrutiny, her eyes glinting in the ethereal light of the Hall of the Dead, before she walks towards him. The mists part for her and the darkness quiets, and when they finally stand face to face, Loki does not blink, even when she angles her head so that she is half-skull and he is forced to stare into the depths of her void-filled eye. 

“I cannot fault you for that,” she says and then raises a hand to cup his cheek in an almost fond manner. “And yet I cannot release you from this. There is only one prophecy that speaks to the true death of the Allfather, and it comes upon your heels.”

He doesn’t know why, but Loki places his hand atop hers, which still rests on his cheek. She looks stricken, her eyes widening slightly, but does not pull away. “I have skirted fate before, sister.”

“He must die,” she whispers, millennia upon millennia of pain and hate and longing clinging to her words. 

Loki sighs and leans into her. “But I will not wrought it.” 

“And I will not risk it.” 

She pulls her hand away only to press both of her palms to either side of Loki’s head. He grips her wrists, but she holds steady, unfettered determination and a hint of regret flashing across her face as her magic rushes through him.

“As long as you are in Helheim, there is no chance for Fate to fulfill itself. We are separate from the rest of the Nine, even though we exist in it and it cannot exist without us. Lucky for me, this is my realm, the only thing of value Odin Allfather ever gave me, and I have the power to cast you out.”

“You would cast me out?” Loki snarls, nails digging into her wrists as panic wells in his chest. “You would do the same as him, because I will not play into your folly?”

She smiles then, softly, even as her magic snakes around and through him like a vice, and says, “I will not leave you to the void, little brother, or to the Land of the Dead.”

He shudders out a breath, nearly a sob. “Then where?” 

She does not answer, and then everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DON'T HATE ME FOR ANOTHER CLIFFHANGER I LOVE YOU ALL


	12. Epilogue

Tony levels Pepper with an unimpressed stare as she twirls spaghetti around her fork and then shovels it into her mouth with a pleased smile. She’s dressed casually today in a blazer, Iron Man t-shirt, and jeans, and her loose hair keeps falling over her shoulders and into her food. Tony had asked her—well, demanded, if she still wanted him to show up for their weekly lunches—to wear something that wasn’t a power suit, so she’s played along and then took it up a notch, donning Tony’s signature look. She pulls it off, too, and that just pisses him off. Tony’s unimpressed stare still twists into a fond smile. He likes casual, carb-loving Pepper. 

“I think it would be good for you,” she says, still chewing. 

“I don’t want to date,” he replies, for the umpteenth time, and picks at his own meal uninterestedly. “I swear to god, what timeline is this where you’re telling me to get out there? You hate it when I date. It never ends well. You always have a Tony-shaped pile of hungover sludge to scrape off the bathroom floor.”

Pepper wipes her face with her napkin and raises a brow. “Oh, I know, believe me, but you’re creeping me out, Tony. I liked it better when—” She cuts herself off, eyes widening. “Sorry, I did not mean it that way.”

“Liked it better when what?” Tony asks, smile turning wry. “When I was holed up in the workshop for days on end, forgetting to eat and sleep and be any semblance of human? Pretty sure we were dating when I was going through one of those phases and you slept on the couch a lot.”

Her nostrils flare. “I just said that’s not what I meant!”

He sighs. “Okay, fine, but I thought you’d be into this new persona. Seriously, it’s a CEO’s dream. Ya know, making meetings on time. No crime fighting and almost dying anymore. No invisible ink in the board room pens. That kind of thing. You’ve been badgering me about all of this for years.”

She begins twirling more pasta around her fork. “Sometimes you think you want something, but really, you don’t. Because it’s weird.”

“I don’t know what to tell ya, Pep. And while we’re on this topic, stop having Rhodey send me event invites to singles’ nights. ”

Her face goes expertly blank. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Tony snorts. “Bullshit.”

Her lips quirk, but she stifles it by shoving another fork full of spaghetti in her mouth. 

The thing is, he knows she means well, and if he’s honest with himself, she’s probably right. Mourning never suited Tony Stark. He’s not built to sustain that kind of weight, just like he’s not built to be heartbroken in a way the arc reactor can’t fix. It’s why there’s a part of him that wants to get in the suit and tell FRIDAY to take him wherever she feels like and then not come back because it’s been a year and he can’t get over it. He can’t stop mourning. The feeling’s lodged in his chest like a burr and nothing he does loosens it. If anything, his more self-destructive coping mechanisms make it worse, because when he stops—stops the manic creating, or the drinking, or the adrenaline high that comes from fighting the bad guys—all that’s left is the prickly bastard in his chest. 

So, here he is, eating pasta in a small alcove of Pepper’s favorite restaurant because it’s easier to stay level all the time than it is to forget in a rush of something and then fall back down to Earth. 

To nothing. 

And he’s fine with that. He really is, because he knows this is better for everyone even if it’s not the best for him. He can’t live somewhere in the middle because the drop is too far, and if he lives on the edge with no stop in sight, he’s going to burn out before anyone can put out the fire. He’s almost done it before, and he’d absolutely be capable again. The only option is this dull, strait-laced life he’s built. He knows Pepper and Rhodey and everyone else don’t believe him, but he knows himself. 

“Maybe I’ll take up pottery,” he says thoughtfully. “Or knitting. Do you think it would be weird to knit Peter a scarf for Christmas?”

Pepper rolls her eyes. “You build him literally everything else. Why do you think a scarf would be weird?”

He strokes his chin. “With cute little spider tassels on the end.”

She groans. “Please, Tony, for the love of god, go on same dates.”

He laughs as Pepper slurps a piece of stray pasta, her lips puckered and sauce on her chin, when suddenly she freezes. The color drains from her face and she gulps, almost choking on the noodle before she swallows it and swipes at her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“Uhhh,” she manages, eloquently. 

Tony is immediately on edge. He leans forward, eyebrows drawn together. “Pep, you all right? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

“No,” she says, too fast, and then she bows her head for a moment, like she’s trying to collect herself. When she looks back up at him, she’s put on the Everything’s Fine mask. Tony _hates_ that mask. “I, uh, forgot that I had a meeting. I’m going to be late if I don’t leave now.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “You are very obviously lying,” he says, not caring that the audible hurt makes her wince. “What’s going on?” 

She stands and tosses the napkin into her half-finished bowl of spaghetti and grabs her purse with jerky, anxious movements. “It’s really just a meeting I forgot about. I’m sorry, Tony. I really am. Will you call me later? So we can finish this conversation?”

“Are you seriously leaving?” he asks incredulously. “Pep, what the fuck is going on?”

“Trust me,” she says as she leans across the table and presses a kiss to his forehead, lingering for a second too long. “Just trust me.” 

He just stares up at her, mouth agape, and watches as she turns on her heel and hurries out of the restaurant. 

When she’s out of sight, Tony pinches the bridge of his nose and takes in a deep breath, holding it until he’s almost dizzy before he flags down a waiter and asks for the check. He barely ate but the nausea rolling his stomach into knots makes him wish he hadn’t eaten anything at all. 

The waiter brings the check by a minute later, and Tony doesn’t even give him a chance to set it down, just holds up his credit card and then waits, tapping his fingers against the table in a fast, unsteady rhythm, until it’s brought back to him. He’s vaguely aware that someone sits across from him, probably some fan who wants an autograph, but then they speak in a voice like velvet and Tony’s pen stills on the credit card slip. 

“Did I ever tell you the story of how I came to behold the Tesseract?” 

Goosebumps wash over Tony skin. He sets the pen down and slowly looks up. Loki sits across from him, an easy smile on his angular, pale face. He’s dressed in a black, three-piece suit, and his dark hair is pulled back into an expertly crafted messy bun to rival Pepper’s.

Tony wants to touch but he’s been through this before. It’s not the first time he’s hallucinated the god, and he knows it won’t be the last time, and maybe he should go back to the therapist Pepper forced him to see after he came back more broken than he’d ever been from Wakanda.

He finishes filling out the credit card slip, grabs his coat, and leaves. 

“I— where are you going?” the hallucination sputters, but Tony keeps walking until he’s out in the cool fall air. He took a cab here, but he starts walking because he’s not ready to deal with the unavoidable recognition and subsequent gushing of the driver, which almost always happens and which he normally doesn’t mind. He just can’t right now, not when he feels like he’s coming apart at the seams. 

Suddenly, there’s a hand on his bicep, and he turns fast, almost ready to call the gauntlet to him because he is not in the mood, but it’s the hallucination, standing there with a confused, hurt expression and _oh god_ — 

“I’ve finally lost it,” he croaks, looking at the long, pale fingers gripping the leather of his jacket as desperation floods him.

“What have you lost?” the hallucination asks quietly. 

“You. My sanity. Take your pick. Goddamnit, now I’m talking to myself in public.” Tony scrubs a hand over his face, as if that will fix his vision and dissipate the hallucination, but before he can do anything else, he’s enveloped in a warm tingle that spreads out from where the hand clasps his arm. Tony’s eyes widen as the tingle turns into a shimmer of green… 

And then he’s in his penthouse, but he can’t be— _its not possible_ —and his stomach is rolling so violently that he thinks he might be sick. He doubles over, hands gripping his knees, and tries to breathe through it even as the anxiety makes his vision tunnel until all he can see are his sneakers, the toes pointed towards a pair of very expensive looking black Oxfords. 

“Breathe,” the hallucination murmurs, placing a gentle hand on his back. “it will pass.” 

The familiarity of it hits Tony like a mack truck.

“It won’t pass!” he snarls, his voice hoarse and his heart hammering behind the arc reactor. “It won’t pass, because you’re not real. _You’re dead_. You’re dead and gone and I am still here and _it won’t pass!_ ”

The weight of the hand leaves his back, as does the softness in the tone of voice. “Look at me.” 

Tony doesn’t move. He just stares, focusing on the pattern of his shoe laces and trying not to go into a full-blown panic attack. He’s found, over the last year, that the more he ignores the weird intrusive thoughts that bombard his brain, the more easily they go away. And they need to go away. Tony needs them to go away. 

But this hallucination doesn’t. Without warning, fingers grip Tony’s chin and force him to look up. He’s still there, staring down intensely with a few dark curls falling around his face and eyes that gleam so goddamned green and for a moment, a tiny moment, Tony wonders if maybe— 

“Do I look as if I am dead?” the maybe-real Loki demands, and there’s a fierceness to his voice that cuts through some of Tony’s anxiety. 

“It’s not possible,” Tony says numbly. “It’s not. I was there when you died. I held you. I went to Asgard for your very cool viking funeral. There was a fucking longboat and everything.”

“I will admit,” maybe-real Loki concedes with a slight scowl, “that I _was_ dead.”

“Was?” Tony repeats dumbly.

The scowl turns into a grim, self-deprecating smile. “Apparently even Hel will not have me.” 

Tony opens his mouth to say who knows what, but he snaps it shut when Loki dips forward until their foreheads are pressed together. He can feel hot breath on his face as the god whispers, “Tony, I swear it is me.”

Tony would be lying if he’d said he never thought about how this would go down. That he didn’t turn stupid, fluffy scenarios around in his brain on how he would react if Loki came back. But now that it’s maybe happening, his brain has shut down, leaving him floundering. Even still, Tony’s hands come up of their own accord and grip the lapels of the god’s suit jacket so hard that his knuckles ache, but he can feel the scratch of fabric against his palms. Feels the way Loki’s body tenses. 

“FRIDAY,” he demands, pulling the god flush against him because he needs the physical sensation to keep this real, and the expression of want that flickers across Loki’s face is pretty helpful, too. “I need confirmation.”

“I can confirm that Loki Odinson stands in front of you, Boss,” FRIDAY says warmly. “Welcome back, Your Highness.” 

“Thank you, ghost,” Loki murmurs, his hands coming to rest on the other man’s hips. 

Tony’s hands slide up and clasp the sides of Lokis neck, and the god shivers and _holy shit_ , this is happening. “Pep saw you. That's why she bolted. Holy fuck. How? And why have you been gone so long? Jesus Christ, Loki, I’ve been—” He can’t even finish the sentence, so he just repeats, “How?”

Loki sighs heavy. “Time moves differently in Helheim, from what I’ve been able to deduce. The Goddess of Death cast me out, and when I awoke, I was still mostly dead on the far shores of Niflheim. For once, Heimdall’s utter distrust of me was fortunate as he sensed my seidr, weak though it was, and sent Thor to my aid. I was at the mercy of the healers for some time before I could even walk on my own, let alone consider traveling between the realms.” 

The words take a minute to sink in, but when they do, Tony thinks he might literally explode. 

“Wait. _Wait wait wait wait wait_. You’ve been in Asgard?” He steps back, and he’s not willing to let go of Loki, not yet, but something hot and ugly is burning through the numbness incredibly quickly, superseding everything else. “You were in Asgard and Thor didn’t think to fucking tell me you were _alive_?” 

Loki winces. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s not,” Tony snaps. “It’s not even a little bit complicated from where I’m standing.”

“You haven’t the slightest—“

“Not that I should be surprised, because you pulled this shit before, gallivanting around the universe without even so much as a phone call—”

“We could not risk—“

“And then you went and got yourself killed for me—“

That causes Loki to stumble, but he still manages to say, “Odin has not been well, and Thor’s presence—“

“I don’t give a shit!” Tony yells. “I really, really don’t care.”

“Thor does,” Loki replies sharply, even though there’s no power to it, only spite. “As do I.”

Tony starts to pull away. He needs space, because he’s vibrating with anger and something else that feels like betrayal, and he doesn’t like it. He hates how it’s mixing with the rest of the emotions flooding him and goddamnit, this is the kind of surge he was telling Pepper about over pasta. The one he wanted to _avoid._

He still can’t stop himself from sniping, “You hate your dad, so it’s a shitty excuse when I was here wallowing because I thought you were _dead_.” 

Loki grabs his hands, lacing their fingers together before he brings them to his lips and skims them across Tony’s knuckles. 

“You are right,” Loki says, his tone strained. “I do hate him, very much. But the Goddess of Death is reigned in by Odin and Odin alone, and we cannot risk harm coming to him until I can replicate the spell he has weaved to bind her. She is Odin’s firstborn, so power is hers for the taking should the old fool die. This means he is now, once again, in Odinsleep, and Thor cannot abandon the Nine Realms while the King slumbers. He must remain on the throne or Asgard is open to attack.”

“Wait, Odin’s firstborn?” Tony asks, incredulously. “I don’t even know if I have the capacity to unpack that right now.”

Something dark flashes across Loki’s face. “Then do not unpack it.” 

Tony files it away for later and instead grumbles, “Okay, fine. But someone else could have come. Someone could have told me you weren’t still dead. Anyone.” 

“Perhaps,” Loki allows, frowning, “but I wished to tell you myself, and I did not realize until I finally arrived back on Midgard how much time had passed. You must understand, when I say time moved differently, I mean quite differently. I was only in Helheim for what felt like moments, but when I came to on Asgard, it had been nearly a Midgardian year.”

Tony sighs. “But still—” 

Loki lets go of his hands suddenly, his own falling to fist at his sides. “What is it you wish to hear? That I did not think to? I admit it freely. I didn’t. I was not on Asgard long enough to concern myself with sending an emissary, which requires much more finesse than you realize now that our realms are allied. But do you also wish for me to say that I did not think of you? You would have me act upon my namesake and lie to you?”

“Why didn’t you just lead with that?” Tony huffs, but his pulse is pounding like a drum. “Then we could have gotten down to the important stuff.”

“And, pray tell, what is that?” Loki demands with a sneer.

Tony stares up at Loki, who glares at him with overbright eyes, and immediately, the anger is doused and all that remains is just pure, unadulterated need raging inside of him. He doesn’t have it in him to be patient. He’s been patient for years, waiting until the cosmos aligned or what the fuck ever needed to happen before he finally gave in to Strange’s weird matchmaking algorithm. They tried once before, and it wasn’t the right time, but there’s no way this is the wrong time. 

Plus, he doesn’t need to be patient. He’s Tony Stark. 

He steps forward, back into the god’s space, and then reaches up to cup Loki’s face and tug him down. When their lips meet, Loki makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, some combination of a whine and a moan, and then wraps his arms around Tony like he’s also been waiting his entire fucking life for this. 

They don’t talk after that. 

It’s not gentle like their stolen kisses on Titan. It’s positively desperate. There’s a certain frenzy to the way they rip each other out of their clothes, in the way they touch and taste and take. Tony knows he’s going to bruise, but he doesn’t care, because Loki’s hands and mouth are on him, _worshipping_ him and undoing him, and it’s the most alive Tony’s felt in months. 

Later, when it’s dark and the only light is the faint glow of the arc reactor, Loki lays beside him, propped up on an elbow so that he can stare down at Tony with cat-like eyes and an even more feline-esque intensity. Loki’s hair is longer than it had been before, so Tony busies himself by twirling a lock around his fingers idly, waiting for Loki to speak because he can see the gears turning. 

“She offered me power,” the god finally murmurs, his expression unreadable, but his eyes keep skirting the planes of Tony’s face like he’s trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle. “She even offered me the death of the Allfather. I have craved that for so long, Tony. I have wanted to rend his head from his body with a ferocity that allowed Thanos to mold me enough that I would choose chaos over all else. And yet, if she’d she offered me this… you, here, as you are now — mine — I would have considered killing Odin in cold blood so that she could rise. I would have risked the end of the universe for another glimpse of you.”

Tony’s mouth is dry. He clears his throat and licks at his lips, and all he manages is, “That’s quite the poetic confession.”

“It is merely how I feel,” Loki replies, somewhat guarded. “I do not require requitement, if that concerns you.” 

Tony laughs, a quick, short sound chased out of him by the butterflies in his stomach. It makes Loki close off even more, but Tony fists his hand in the god’s hair so that he won’t be able to leave without a fight. Loki moves back anyway until his hair is pulled taut and then levels Tony with a cool glare. 

“Oh no you don’t, Severus,” Tony says good-naturedly. 

Loki’s upper lip curls. “Unhand me.”

Once upon a time, he may have listened. Maybe. On a good day. He’s not stupid enough to forget who and what is laying in bed next to him, but seeing Loki try to rebuild the ice fortress around his heart at mach speed makes it easier for the remainder of Tony’s inhibitions to melt away. Not that it wasn’t easy before. Well, mostly. Loki’s as easy to hold on to as a fish out of water, and he’s volatile, self-obsessed, and doesn’t play well with others, but he’s breathtaking and unpredictable and Tony doesn’t want anything else.

Plus, he knows Loki could absolutely just teleport away, but he doesn’t. He stays. He _stays_.

Tony smiles up at the sulking god, all self-confidence and nonchalance. “No, I don’t think I will unhand you.”

“Stark,” Loki warns, eyes narrowing.

“Oh, it’s back to Stark now? It took you dying and finally getting in my pants to call me Tony with any amount of regularity, and we get into one fight and it’s back to Stark. I feel used.”

Loki grinds his teeth. His eyes are greener now, portents of doom flashing in those beautiful, emerald depths. Tony can’t keep the grin off of his face. It only makes Loki fluster more.

“I will magic your lips shut if you do not cease your bickering.”

Tony just rolls his eyes. “No, you won’t. And I’m not letting you go. You’ve fucked off and left me twice in a pretty big way, so excuse me if I’m not willing to do the whole third-time’s-a-charm bullshit.”

“You try my patience.”

“And you try mine. You told me once that I didn’t know the depths, but I know them. I do. I look at you and I know them, and I want you here. With me.” He pulls experimentally on the lock of hair he’s still holding, and Loki allows it, until their faces are inches away from the other. “So, no, I won’t unhand you.”

“You’re a menace,” Loki hisses.

“That’s why you love me, though.”

Tony says it playfully, but the tension in Loki’s face falls into something soft and vulnerable.

“I think it’s sweet,” Tony continues on hurriedly, immediately uncomfortable with the level of openness Loki is radiating right now because he doesn’t even know if Loki realizes he’s doing it. “You willing to cause the end of the world for me. Kill the Alldaddy. It’s real romantic. Not giant rabbit romantic, but not everyone has my finesse.”

Loki sighs and tilts his head so that he can look at the arc reactor. He raises a hand and begins to trace the edges, just barely grazing the scarred skin that surrounds it, and Tony holds his breath. “The end of the world, Ragnarok… it may happen whether I mean to cause it or not,” he says seriously. “I wonder how many times I can escape fate before it catches up with me.”

Tony catches the god’s hand and links their fingers together. “I told you, I make my own destiny. You can come along for the ride. I won’t even charge you.”

Loki laughs softly. “I still haven’t told you the story of how I escaped New York and bypassed Asgard’s prisons. I think the story would perhaps readjust your view of the machinations of fate. I was not joking on Titan when I said I think you are mine, and I do not say it lightly, but my being here with you once again only confirms it for me.”

“So tell me the story,” Tony says, rising up slightly to place a kiss on Loki’s lips, and then his cheek, and then his jaw. “I like a good bedtime story.”

“It was you,” Loki replies simply. 

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I had an arrhythmia and nearly died, and you escaped while I was _dying_.” 

Loki laughs again, but this time it’s more genuine. Tony reaches up to brush the pad of his thumb along the god’s curved lower lip. 

“While present-you was flopping on the floor like a fish, I was watching a different you try to steal the Tesseract.” Loki smirks. “Unsurprisingly, you failed.” 

“Wait, what?” Tony sits up to stare down at Loki, who rolls onto his back, dark hair spilling across the pillows like ink. He’s grinning, and Tony wants to kiss the look off of his face, but he’s still too focused on the other version of himself who apparently tried to steal the Tesseract. “Explain.”

“At the time, I was unsure of what I was seeing, but upon meeting Strange, he confirmed that the Avengers in the universe directly parallel to this one made some fatal errors and were forced to travel along the timeline to correct them.” His smile widens and the way the light of the arc reactor highlights his cheekbones makes him look positively devious. “You were walking away with the Tesseract when the Hulk smashed his way into the lobby, and then it was at my feet, ripe for the taking.”

“I bet you I was the one who invented time travel,” Tony says immediately, and then adds, “Also, you’re lying.” 

Loki snorts. “Ghost, can you procure video of the aforementioned event?” 

“I can, Your Highness.” 

A projected holograph forms with the requested footage. When it’s over, Tony scrambles, still naked, to the foot of the bed so that he’s got a better view and makes FRIDAY replay it. The quality of the video isn’t great, but holy shit, he thinks Loki’s right. That definitely looks like him stuffed into a SWAT uniform. 

“Just as I said,” Loki says smugly. 

“FRIDAY, play it again.” 

The sheets rustle and the bed dips, and then cool hands slide around the curve of his waist before Tony feels the god pressed against his back. His lips graze the shell of Tony’s ear as he murmurs, “Fate.” 

Tony leans back into the embrace, unable to stop himself from grinning at the freeze-frame of some version of himself running a heist. A _time heist_. It sounds ridiculous and incredibly dangerous and absolutely like something some version of Tony would do. “Well, we should prepare for the end of the world, I guess.”

“We?” Loki asks, casual as can be, like that could possibly mask how loaded of a question he’s posing. 

“I told you,” Tony says easily, and it is easy. So painfully, perfectly easy. “I make my own destiny, and you’re it. So… where do we start?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest fic I've ever written, and I dunno if I would have kept up with it if not for all of your amazing comments. Thank you all so much for coming on the fix-it journey with me, readers! And for tolerating my recent cliffhangers. I know they were positively evil, but I never would have done it without a happy ending. 2020's given us all enough angst... we deserve some happy endings. 
> 
> @zombieporno, thank you to the moon and back for taking my constant plot-badgering in stride. You are the world's best cheerleader and I love you. 
> 
> I won't make any promises because a. grad school and b. I am dying to write a soulmate Frostiron AU that is still only in the very early stages of brain stewage, but I am considering writing more in this universe. We'll see! I'm back on a serious Frostiron kick so anything is possible. :)


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